


Harry Potter & the Secret of Life

by TheGirlWhoSawImagination



Series: The Chronicles of Mabon [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Also This Story is Inspired by Lord Huron’s “Vide Noir” Album, Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, And I Highly Suggest That You Listen To It, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Book 4: The Goblet of Fire, But Only of One Character, Character Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Different “Power He Knows Not” AU, Don’t copy to another site, Drama, F/M, For Reasons That Will Be Explained, Forced Marriage, Genderbending, Harems, Harry/Harem | Harry/Multi AU, Het, Hurt & Comfort, MASSIVE Harems, Multi, Neville Longbottom is a Good Friend, No Bashing of Characters, Non-Explicit Sex, Polygamy, Pregnancy, Remus Lupin Acting as Harry Potter’s Parental Figure, Romance, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Sirius Black Acting as Harry Potter’s Parental Figure, Teen Pregnancy, The Tri-Wizard Tournament, Title Credit Also Belongs to Lord Huron & Their Song “Secret of Life”, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 68,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWhoSawImagination/pseuds/TheGirlWhoSawImagination
Summary: AU//In an act of desperation, James and Lily Potter decide to use ancient magic in order to save their son. But no one could have been prepared for what the side effects of this magic were – most of all Harry Potter himself.//Or, a different “Power He Knows Not” story that takes place during GoF. Harry/Multi pairing. Rated ‘M’ for a reason!
Relationships: Harry Potter/Multi
Series: The Chronicles of Mabon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721998
Comments: 46
Kudos: 205





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you are all doing well – I certainly am, because not being able to go outside has given me a lot of free time, which has allowed me to get back into writing and post not one, but two stories! The first one has already been posted (it’s a Percy Jackson fanfiction), which means that this one is the second of the two.
> 
> Like the first one, this story has been bouncing around in my head for quite a while. Definitely not as long as that one (I had that idea in 2013-2014, while this one came to me in 2016-2017), but still. A while. Which means that I’ve gotten most of the kinks of this story already smoothed out, and I know pretty much everything that’s going to happen and when it’s going to happen.
> 
> That is pretty much where the similarities between these two stories end, however. Because while the first one is pretty upbeat, this is story is going to get...angsty. Like, really angsty. A lot of the characters in this story are going to be put into situations that they are too young to really understand the full extent of, and it’s going to suck for them. Majorly. Likewise, because of this, other characters are going to...I don’t want to say suffer, but react in a certain way. However, that being said, no characters will be bashed in this story. If they act a certain way, it’s because I think it’s in their character to act that way, not because I want to incessantly hate on them or anything like that.
> 
> Other warnings you should probably know about this story before you read: there will be genderbending (but only of one character), pregnancy, and non-explicit content involving minors (because I refuse to write out smut scenes for this story). Luna will also be an aura reader in this story (not a seer – they’re different), for reasons that will be explained later. If you don’t like any of this, then you should probably stop reading now because you’re most likely not going to like the rest of the story.
> 
> That being said, for those of you that are still here, I hope you enjoy this story! Next update will be on Thursday, as I’m trying to get a Tuesday-Thursday updating schedule for this story...for now, anyways. If the schedule changes, then I’ll let you know.
> 
> See you on Thursday,  
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Wednesday, 2 September 1981_ **

**_Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England, Great Britain_ **

**James Charlus Potter had never felt as hopeless in his entire twenty-one years of life as he did now.**

Staring down at the book that was laid out in front of him, James let out a sigh as he looked at the fine, black calligraphy that the book had been written in. The ink was just a tad bit faded and the pages were yellow with age, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the book was yet another book that had proved useless and hadn’t given him an answer to the question that he so desperately needed answered.

Next to him, James’s wife, Lily, barely even looked up from her own book as she asked, “No luck?”

“No,” he replied with another sigh. “This book is useless. All it contains is some old rituals for fertility.”

“Then put it in the pile,” was all that she said in response.

Momentarily, his eyes flickered over to the fore-mentioned pile that was sitting at the end of their mahogany table, just in front of the window. It was sunny outside, he realized as he looked past the dozens and dozens of old and ancient books. Not a cloud was in the bright blue sky, and a gentle breeze blew past the trees outside, revealing that the day was most likely just as beautiful as it looked.

The thought only made him feel more hopeless.

“Lily,” James said after a few moments. “How many books from the manor do we have left?”

It was her turn to sigh, albeit her sigh was much more irritated than his was. “Still a few dozen. Why, James?”

“And how many of them are in languages we can’t read?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“...Most of them,” she replied, before she looked up at him with a glare. “Why, James? What’s your point?”

“I don’t have a ‘point’.”

“Yes, you do. I know you, James. You wouldn’t be talking about this unless you wanted to prove something. So, what is it? Tell me.”

“I’m just...afraid,” he admitted finally. “I’m afraid that we’re wasting all of the small bits of free time that we get pouring over these books for nothing. I’m afraid that there’s nothing in these books and by the time that we realize it it’ll be too late to do anything else. And I’m afraid...”

_...I’m afraid that Voldemort will find us and kill you and Harry and I won’t be able to do anything about it because I’ll already be dead._

Because that was why he felt so hopeless, wasn’t it? For months – _years_ , now, he reminded himself. _Years_. – he’d been listening to the wireless radio, listening to the radio hosts go on and on about the people that had died because Voldemort had thought that they may have known the secret to where his family was. Friends like Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, and Benjy Fenwick...all gone. All dead.

And all because of that damned _prophecy_.

It was only a matter of time until Voldemort found them, he knew, Fidelity’s Charm or not. It was only a matter of time until Voldemort realized that Sirius had been their Secret Keeper all along and tortured him for it. Killed him for it. And James knew that as soon as his brother in all but blood was dead, Voldemort would come after them, next.

And he was afraid that that would happen well before they found a way to save Harry’s life.

Lily’s glare softened into a gaze upon hearing his words. “James,” she said as she got up, her book now forgotten. “That won’t happen. We’ll find an answer before then. Somehow. Someway. Maybe I could convince Sirius to get me some of my old Ancient Runes books the next time that he visits...maybe I could find something in them that might help us...”

“But what if we _can’t_?” James snapped as he got to his feet, causing Lily to flinch. “What if _nothing_ we find can give us an answer, Lily? I...I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you or Harry, Lils. If both of you died and I didn’t, I’d follow you shortly after.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she whispered with wide, emerald green eyes.

“Well, how else am I supposed to talk about it? There’s no one else to talk to it about! Sirius can only come around here every two weeks, and when he does, he doesn’t want to hear it either! It’s like both of you don’t want to face the fact that You-Know-Who’s going to kill us eventually, no matter what we do! And I can’t stand it! I just _can’t_!”

Suddenly, a crying noise came from the center of the table, where the baby monitor was. Both of them turned towards it, and Lily opened her mouth to say something, but James cut her off with an, “I’ll get it.”

Then, with his hands in his pockets, he walked out of the dining room and into the hallway, then up the stairs and into their son’s nursery.

Inside, Harry was in his crib, wailing as he usually did when he woke up from one of his naps. When he saw his father, though, the one-and-a-half-year-old stood up and, with arms outstretched, said, “Da! Da!”

Even though he was the feeling the way that he did, James couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to his son and replied, “Did you have a nice nap, Har?”

The boy scrunched his nose up in response, because he hated the word ‘nap’ with a burning passion that his father had never seen replicated anywhere else. “No!” he wailed. “No nap, Da! Out! Out!”

“Yes, yes, I know, I know. You want out,” James grumbled as he scooped Harry out of the crib. “Way to make your father feel loved.”

Harry perked up. “Mummy?” he asked in a bright voice. “Where Mummy?”

James snorted. “Okay, now I _know_ that you’re screwing with me. But that’s okay. You want Mummy, then I’ll take you to Mummy.”

“Mummy!” Harry squealed as he clapped his hands.

James began to turn around from the crib, Harry still in his arms, when something in the nursery’s front window caught his eye. Frowning, he turned to look at it, much to his son’s displeasure, because the boy began to twist and turn and babble.

But James couldn’t focus on that, because what he saw outside made his heart stop and his blood turn _cold_.

Because outside, there was a figure in a grey cloak standing right out front their house. That in of itself was unusual, as due to the Fidelius Charm, people would have a sudden desire to walk away from the house – which they couldn’t even see, and in fact forgot even existed – if they stood in front of it for too long. Furthermore, the way that the figure was also distressing, because it was seemingly facing the house, almost as if...

...Almost as if...

_...Almost as if it was looking right at them._

“James?” Lily called from down the stairs. “James, what’s taking so long?”

When he didn’t immediately reply, she walked up the stairs and made her way into the nursery. “Is Harry being troublesome again?” she asked, oblivious to the sheer terror that was running through his veins. “Because if he is, I can – James? What are you doing?”

“Mummy!” Harry cried.

“James –”

“Someone’s watching us,” James said, before his wife could finish her sentence. “Someone’s outside and they’re looking at us _through the wards_.”

Lily was at his side in an instant, looking down at the figure like he was. Her face turned to the color of bone. “But that’s impossible,” she whispered. “No one can see through – ”

“Mummy!” Harry cried again.

At his crying, James looked down at his son, then back at the figure outside. He knew what he had to do. “Lily,” he said. “Take Harry and go find the mirror. See if you can call Sirius and ask him if he told anyone else about this place. If you can’t get ahold of him immediately, then I want you to go into the panic room and stay there until either I come to get you or – or – ”

“James!” she protested.

“Just do it!” he snapped.

Without another word, Lily grabbed Harry – who was blissfully unaware of what was going on and was quite happy to be in the arms of his mother – and walked out of the room. James stared after them for a few moments, before he reached down into his jeans’ pocket – front, not back, like Moody had taught him – and took out his mahogany wand.

Outside, it truly was a nice day out. The temperature was just right, and the gentle breeze was blissfully cool. But James didn’t focus on that. He couldn’t. Instead, he focused on the figure, who still hadn’t moved from the place that it originally was. “Who are you?” he shouted as he walked up towards it with his wand raised, only stopping when he was about six feet away. “And how can you see through the wards?”

The figure did not reply. In fact, it didn’t even move.

“Answer me!” James shouted again. “Because if you don’t, I swear, I’ll – ”

“Do nothing,” the figure interjected, with a deep, masculine voice. “You’ll do nothing.”

James found himself faltering at the figure’s words, and not just because the figure sounded so certain, so believing that he wouldn’t do anything. No, he also found himself faltering because, somehow, the figure’s voice seemed _familiar_. Like he had heard it somewhere else before...like in a dream, perhaps. Nevertheless, with as much force that he could muster, he said, “And why would I do that? Why would I not do anything against someone who I don’t know and yet can somehow see through the wards protecting me? My family?”

The figure moved. Slowly, it reached up and grabbed at the hood covering its face, and pulled down, revealing the face of a man who looked to be around fifty years old. But, for some reason, James thought that he was far more older than he looked. Maybe it was because that the man had a calm expression that he had only ever seen Albus Dumbledore wear. Maybe it was because his short, brown hair and beard had several grey streaks in it, which was a sight uncommon – or, at least, it had been, before the war and bloodshed and carnage and death – in wizardkind. Or perhaps it was because the man’s grey eyes looked like they had seen far more things than any fifty-year-old ever could.

Despite himself, James found himself lowering his wand as he took in the man’s appearance. “Who are you?” he asked again, his voice much more weaker this time. “And what do you want from me and my family?”

“Who I am does not matter,” the man replied. “As for what I want...I do not want anything _from_ you. I want _for_ you. Because I know what you and your wife want, James Charlus Potter; what the two of you have so desperately searched for over the past two years: a way for your son to survive the Killing Curse.”

Unbeknownst to himself, James sunk to his knees in shock as he stared at the man. “How did you know?” he whispered. “How – how _could_ you know?”

The man smiled grimly in response. “I have my ways of knowing,” he said. “But once again, that does not matter. All that matters is that I know the answer to what you seek, Mr. Potter. I know of a way for your son to not only survive the Killing Curse, but to survive anything that the Dark Lord tries to do to him as well. And I am willing to help you achieve this, even if...”

“Even if what?” James asked, his tone desperate.

“...Even if the cost for your son surviving the Killing Curse is both _terrible_ and _great_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Faulty Magic


	2. Chapter 1: Faulty Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I’m back at it with the second chapter for this story! Originally, I had this chapter along with a few more chapters written, but I realized about halfway through writing the fifth chapter that the feel that the story had, thus far, wasn’t a feel that I wanted, so I scrapped everything except the prologue (which I liked) and rewrote this chapter in the hopes that I could capture the feel that I wanted better.
> 
> Also, something that I forgot to mention in the first chapter’s A/N: for those of you that like to listen to music while reading, I highly suggest that you listen to the album Vide Noir by Lord Huron. A lot of the ideas that came to me for this story came to me because of the songs on that album, especially the songs “Secret of Life” (which is where this story gets its title from), “Ancient Names Part 1”, and “The Balancer’s Eye”.
> 
> Welp, besides how much I want to thank you all for your support so far – because seriously, all of your favorites/follows/reviews over the past few days have absolutely blown. Me. Away. Each notification I got brought a smile to my face and squeal of happiness, which is very impressive, I tell you. Very impressive – all I have left to say is that I hope you enjoy this second chapter!
> 
> Oh, and that I’ll see you on Tuesday, of course ;)  
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Saturday, 30 July 1994_ **

**_Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain_ **

**Nearly thirteen years after James Charlus Potter met the man who could see through the wards and had promised him a way to save his son, the soon-to-be fourteen-year-old Harry James Potter sat on top of his bed in the smallest bedroom of 4 Privet Drive.** Two feet of parchment was sitting in his lap, and a quill was in his right hand while a flashlight was in his left, because it was almost midnight and he knew better than to turn on the lights in his room at such a time. On the nightstand next to his bed, an opened pot of black ink sat, along with a dismal-looking digital clock that read the time: _11:43_.

With a sigh of frustration and exhaustion, Harry looked up from the two feet of parchment – which was supposed to be his potions essay – and looked at the time. He had been working on the essay for about two hours now and was only halfway through it, thanks to Professor Snape’s meticulous detailing of the prompt and the fact that his mind kept on straying elsewhere: mainly to his fourteenth birthday, which was less than seventeen minutes away, and to his eventual return to Hogwarts, come September 1st.

As with every year since Harry was old enough to do so, he stood up the night before his birthday, waiting for the clock to strike midnight. It was his small little way of celebrating it, because Harry’s relatives, the Dursleys, never even acknowledged his birthday outside of anything more than an ordinary day, and Harry’s friends couldn’t celebrate it with him since he had to stay with his relatives for at least the entire month of July during summer break. And Sirius, Harry’s godfather, was busy on the run due to his criminal status, so it wasn’t like he could stop by and come over, either.

Needless to say, every year since he could remember, Harry’s birthday had, well... _sucked_ , for lack of a better word, even if gaining two best friends and a godfather had somewhat alleviated it by all three of them promising to send him gifts that would arrive tomorrow.

That was part of the reason why Harry was so anxious to return to Hogwarts, along with the excitement of seeing his friends and classmates and attending his classes. But none of those things were the main reason why he was so anxious. No, just simply getting away from the Dursleys was why. Because although they had never really hit him or physically abused him (save for his cousin Dudley’s bullying, but Harry didn’t think that that counted), they still verbally abused him and made him do chores. The latter he hadn’t really done since going off to Hogwarts, but something about him telling them that his godfather was a criminal and mass murderer (which wasn’t true, but the half-lie slipped off his tongue easily enough) made them snap and resort back to their old ways. And what was worse, he couldn’t even actually get Sirius to protect him, due to him not even being in the country, if the fact that his letters were delivered by tropical birds instead of owls was anything to go by.

At least his relatives hadn’t outright stuffed Harry or his things back into the cupboard under the stairs, as they were prone to do. Because thanks to some miraculous growth spurts, Harry didn’t think he could fit in his old bedroom for the first eleven years of his life again, and he really needed to do his summer homework.

Speaking of which...Harry blinked his eyes back into focus and looked at the clock again. _11:50_. “Well, it doesn’t look like I’m going to finish this tonight,” he said, before sighing again and carefully putting his potions essay and other school supplies underneath his bed, where his trunk and most of the rest of his things were.

After he had done that, Harry flopped onto his bed in such a way that he was laying down on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He really shouldn’t be in a rush to finish his potions essay, he knew. One, because he knew that Professor Snape would somehow be able to sniff out that he had only done it all in one night and would deduct points for it. And two, Harry had already finished the rest of his homework, including the dream journal for Divination by coming up with clever, fake dreams for his entire summer break in which he died in increasingly gruesome ways. He only did so because he knew that Professor Trelawney would never notice between her alcoholism and her own tendency to over-predict Harry’s eventual death.

Idly, Harry thought about what his parents would make about Trelawney’s predictions. After all, they had sacrificed their own lives for his that one Halloween night, when Voldemort had come after them. No, when Voldemort had come after _him_ , Harry reminded himself, and gave him the scar on his forehead, the scar that made him one of the most easily-identified people in the entire wizarding world.

His scar twinged slightly then, as if in agreement with his thoughts. Frowning, Harry reached up and pressed a hand to it, before he turned his head to look at the clock and see what time it was again. _11:58_. _Good_ , he thought with some slight giddiness. _It’s almost here. My birthday is almost here._

For the next two minutes, Harry remained in that awkward position as he stared at his clock. When a minute passed, causing the clock to now read _11:59_ , he began to whisper to himself, “Come on...come on...it’s only just a minute...”

Meanwhile, his scar twinged again, except this time in a way that was a little bit more painful.

When the clock finally struck _12:00_ , Harry almost let out a whoop of excitement, but then he remembered where he was and a slapped a hand to his mouth with wide, emerald green eyes. When no one immediately came running, he let out a sigh of relief, before saying quietly, “Happy birthday to me, I guess.”

Harry then scrunched up his face, trying to ascertain what being fourteen years old actually felt like. Truth be told, it honestly didn’t feel all that much different from being thirteen years old. His right wrist still ached from all of the writing that he had done for his potions essay and his scar still twinged painfully...Voldemort must’ve been up to something. In fact, the only thing about him that felt different was his hands, which felt _really_ odd, now that he got to thinking about them...

He looked down then, trying to see what was wrong with his hands, before he almost let out a shout in surprise and abject horror. Because, although his hands looked perfectly fine, there was this weird, golden-green magic _coming out of them_. Out of his fingertips, to be precise. It almost looked like tendrils of static electricity, but it didn’t hurt or even have a mild shock to it.

“What the hell?” Harry whispered.

Experimentally, he flexed his fingers. At first, nothing happened. But then, the tendrils suddenly increased in their voltage, causing a light _zap_ to sting each one of Harry’s fingers. “Ouch,” he said, before he instinctively moved to suck at one of his fingers. Thankfully, though, he managed to stop himself just before he brought the finger to his lips, as he realized with sudden clarity that it probably wasn’t a good idea to put electricity in your mouth – even if the electricity seemed to actually be magic.

Harry’s scar proceeded to twitch painfully once more. This time, he could not stop the instinctual urge to press a hand up against it and, as soon as he did, the pain in his scar _amplified_. In fact, it hurt so much that he was relatively certain that the only other time it had hurt so bad was when he defeated Professor Quirrell in his first year.

But the pain did not just stay in his scar. No, instead it traveled to the back of his head, then down the back of his neck, then to his spine. From there, it went into his extremities, until his entire body could sense nothing but pain.

If Harry had been able to think coherently by that point, he would’ve thought that this pain was, without a doubt, the worst that he had ever experienced. It easily surpassed the pain that he had felt when he fought Professor Quirrell, as well as the pain that he felt when succumbing to the basilisk venom in his second year and the pain he felt from the Dementors over the course of his third year, the previous year. However, all of the pain that his mind sensed overloaded it so much that all Harry could think of was the pain. Anything else beyond that was practically non-existent in his mind.

But that is not to say that his mind was completely unable to comprehend what was going on. Because, at least on some level, his mind recognized that Harry’s consciousness needed to be relieved of the pain that he was experiencing. So, just as Harry opened his mouth to scream, he passed out, resulting in him doing nothing more than letting out a small, strangled gurgle as his world turned black.

~~~

_...Black._

_All around him there was nothing but black – an endless, dark void that extended for miles upon miles everywhere that he looked. All he could see was black, all he could feel was black, and all that he could hear, smell, and taste was black, too._

_“What’s going on?” he wanted to scream, wanted to shout out as loud as he could until his lungs burst from the effort. “Where am I? Why am I here?”_

_But he couldn’t do that, because he wasn’t even able to open his mouth. Or move, for that matter, as he belatedly realized. The only part of his body that he was able to move was his eyes, and all that they could see was the endless void._

Have I been paralyzed? _he thought, and the thought gave him a surge of panic. Why, he didn’t know. He just knew that if he had been paralyzed, someone must have done it to him._

_Suddenly, in the midst of the void, he began to hear voices. At first, it was impossible to decipher what they were saying, much less distinguish them, but as he listened to them, they became more and more clearer._

_“We can save him, Lily. Don’t you want this? Isn’t this what we’ve been looking for, all this time?”_

_“This isn’t saving him, James! This is dooming him! Him and everyone he will ever know!”_

Mum? Dad? _he thought, surprised. Because although he was sure that the voices were those of his parents, they weren’t speaking the one conversation that he remembered them saying. He wondered why that was, and came to the only conclusion that seemed reasonable: he was dead._

_Somewhere in the void, somebody laughed. It was a babyish, childlike sound that he didn’t recognize. But, what he did recognize was the speaker of the voice that followed it._

_“You’re not dead, Harry,” the unmistakable voice of Ginny Weasley said. “You’re just dreaming, that’s all.”_

Ginny? _he thought._ What are you doing here? What’s going on?

_“Something that you can’t understand, Harry,” the voice of Hermione replied. “Well, more like you won’t be able to understand it. Not yet. But you will soon enough.”_

_“We’ve been waiting a long time, Harry,” a new voice that he could only vaguely recognize said. It was distinctly feminine, with a dreamy, wistful quality to it. “Almost thirteen years, to be precise. And now, we’re almost ready.”_

Almost ready for what? _he mentally screamed._

_The person with the childlike laughter laughed again. “You’ll see, Harry,” another voice said, but this one was completely foreign to him, unlike all of the others. “Just you wait.”_

_“It’ll all make sense in due time,” the voice of Daphne Greengrass added._

_“Just remember one thing, Harry,” the voice of Susan Bones said. “We love you.”_

_“We love you, Harry,” all of the voices from before – the voices of the girls, and the voices of his parents – echoed._

_Vaguely, he realized that he was about to wake up – and he didn’t want to._ Wait! _he cried out mentally._ I don’t want to wake up! Not until I know what’s going on! Please, tell me what’s –

~~~

_– going on!_

With a gasp, Harry woke up and jolted into a sitting position, his eyes wide and his heart hammering madly from inside his chest. In fact, it was pounding so hard that he could hear it in his ears, and feel it inside his head.

Over the course of the next few minutes, he slowly but surely began to catch his breath, while the course of the night’s events played through his mind. He remembered the golden-green magic that had literally been at his fingertips, the pain that his scar had given off, and the all-encompassing and unadulterated pain that followed it. He also remembered the dream, which was still fresh in his mind, where he had been staring into the black void and listening to the voices of one of his best friend’s sister, his other best friend, and his classmates.

“What the hell?” Harry whispered to himself again when he had at least somewhat calmed himself down.

Shakily, he moved to run a hand through his hair in order to ease his nerves, but he paused about halfway through the movement when he saw that something was on his arm. Upon closer inspection, he realized that what he saw was actually a silvery marking, almost like a scar. And, what was worse, it was _all over his arm_ , from the back of his fingers to underneath the sleeve of his shirt, winding and unwinding in strange, fern-like patterns that Harry had never seen before.

If it wasn’t for the knowledge that his relatives would probably berate him for the rest of the day – justified excuse or not – Harry would have screamed his lungs out right then and there. As it was, he still let out a low moan of shock and abject horror, especially when he realized that his other arm had the same silvery, fern-like patterns all over it as well.

Standing on legs that felt like absolute jelly, Harry shakily moved slowly and quietly to the other side of the room, where a broken, full-length wall mirror was (a gift that Dudley had received on his thirteenth birthday – for what purpose, Harry never knew and knew better than to find out) was hanging from an equally battered empty wardrobe. Right next to the wardrobe, Hedwig looked at him from the perch inside her cage and hooted softly.

“I’m fine, Hedwig,” Harry said, but the lie felt hot and heavy in his mouth, and Hedwig only gave him a long look that made him think that she didn’t believe him.

At first, as he stood there, looking in the mirror, Harry could see almost nothing wrong with himself – save for his glasses, which were sitting haphazardly on his face. With trembling hands, Harry reached up and corrected them, and that was when he saw the fern-like patterns on his arms in the mirror.

That was when he knew that they weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

After that, after he had seen his proof, Harry spent the next several minutes inspecting every part of his body. The fern-like patterns did not just end at his shoulders; they moved intricately all over his body, from his torso to his feet, before they seemingly met up somewhere on the back of his neck. The fact that they avoided both his throat and his face was something that Harry was immeasurably grateful for, until he realized that the scar on his forehead was no longer red – instead, it was the same silvery color as his... _new scars_ , Harry supposed, looking like it had been healed for years when he knew that that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Oh, Hedwig,” Harry said. “What...what is this? Did you see anything weird happen to me last night?”

His owl only chirped in response. He sighed. There was only so much an owl could understand, after all, and he knew that even if she did understand what he had asked, she wouldn’t have been able to tell him anything.

But what _had_ happened? He ran over the memories in his mind again, looking for anything that could possibly explain why he now had scars all over his body. Something had obviously been going on with his magic...something that seemed a lot like accidental magic, but hadn’t had the strong emotion behind it in order for him to think that it was so, much less the intention.

Suddenly, he remembered one of the magical creatures that they had talked about in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class last year – _creature_ being used very loosely here, because this creature was a lot like the Dementor. In fact, it was only described as such because of its parasitic nature.

_What’s it called...an obscurial? No, that’s the term that refers to its host. Obscurus. Yes. That’s it,_ he thought, before wondering out loud, “Is that it? Am I being possessed by an obscurus? Am I an obscurial?”

But even as he spoke the words out loud, he doubted them. Obscurials were usually much younger than he was now, and they only developed an obscurus because they...didn’t hate magic per se, but rather were _scared_ of it. And even before he knew that he was a wizard, Harry had never been scared of magic, both the magic that muggles thought magic was and the actual magic that he himself had performed.

Still...the idea that something was causing him to lose control of his magic was an idea that Harry couldn’t ignore. Theoretically, he knew, magic was like a muscle. The more that you used it, the better control that you had over it, hence why most people stopped performing accidental magic after they went to Hogwarts. But, as per usual, Harry had been the exception to that rule, because he had performed accidental magic on his aunt Marge last year without any problems or difficulties.

Was it possible that Harry hadn’t “worked out” his magic enough? Or worse, was it atrophying? Was it... _faulty_?

That didn’t really make sense, either. At least, not when he added the dream that he’d had into the equation. And the dream was definitely somehow connected to his magic flaring up like this, he just knew it.

He decided then and there that the best thing to do was to write a letter to either Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, or Professor McGonagall. Actually, maybe it would be better to write a letter to all three of them. After all, his relationship with Sirius, although only a few months old, was the closest thing that Harry had to a parental-child relationship, and Dumbledore and McGonagall had decades’ worth of experience when it came to magic. Surely one of them, or even all of them would have some sort of idea about what was going on with his magic.

It then occurred to Harry that he didn’t know what time it was. Blinking, Harry turned away from the mirror and looked at the digital clock on his nightstand. It read _7:30_.

“Shit!” Harry cursed. Ever since the Dursleys had made him start doing chores again, they had expected breakfast to be ready by eight o’clock. If it wasn’t, Harry knew that he would get a ten-minute long lecture about how “ungrateful” he was and then he would be given even more chores to do for the day, and he very much wanted to avoid both of those things.

So, strange and faulty magic momentarily forgotten, he quickly changed clothes and went downstairs, where he immediately got started on making breakfast. All the while, he began to dread the interactions with the Dursleys that he would have that morning even more so than usual, because _surely_ they would notice the marks on his arms.

And it never once occurred to him that that might not be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Letters


	3. Chapter 2: Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful weekend! Not much to talk about for today‘s update, although I will say that we are still in the exposition of this story right now. I’m thinking things will pick up around Chapter 10 or so – basically when we get to Hogwarts for reasons that will be explained when we get there. It’s a little agonizing, but the exposition of this story is very much the “calm before the storm” for both the reader and for Harry, so cut him some slack for now haha.
> 
> With that being said, I will see you all on Thursday! 
> 
> Stay safe everyone,  
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

_**Tuesday, 9 August 1994** _  
_**Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain** _

**Despite his decision to send a letter to Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall about his magic, in the end Harry only sent a letter to Sirius.** He’d thought about it a lot, and ultimately decided that the headmaster and deputy headmistress of Hogwarts – among their many other collective titles – were probably too busy to deal with something that wasn’t even that much of a pressing matter, if the fact that his magic (or his dreams, for that matter) hadn’t acted up at all since his birthday.

And even with Sirius, Harry did his best to make his godfather unconcerned about his magic problems. Instead of admitting that his magic had acted up, he had phrased it as needing help with a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay (which was a full-out lie, because due to the constant changing of professors Harry had never had summer homework for that class before). He also included a “DADA” question about whether or not someone’s magic could hide their scars, too, because he’d quickly found out the morning of his birthday that nobody except for him could see the silvery scars that were now all over his body.

Sirius replied relatively quickly, with his letter being delivered by a bird that Harry thought he saw in a book once about wildlife in the many Pacific islands (he’d sent Hedwig back with only a hastily scrawled ‘SB’ before he’d sent the letter). His letter was rather short, but Harry was still grateful for the answers that he got, even if they weren’t much to go on:

_Dear Harry,_

_Those are some interesting DADA questions, especially because I wasn’t aware that any student had DADA homework, but I suppose that this may be something new that Professor Dumbledore is implementing this year (he was actually a DADA professor before he was a headmaster and transfiguration professor, did you know that?). It seems like something he would do, anyways, doesn’t it?_

_As for some answers to your questions, I’m afraid that I’m not going to be much help. Outside of the spells, DADA was never really my thing – James and Remus were always better than me at it. But Remus is currently busy (or so I’m told), so I’ll do my best to help you. For your first question, while I’ve never heard of someone’s magic acting up outside of an obscurus (which I’m sure you’ve already accounted for), I wouldn’t be surprised if there are some old, medieval curses or something like that that could do something similar. Skimming through A History of Magic (yes, I know. The book is boring) could potentially be beneficial if you choose to look in that area._

_As for your second question, glamour charms could hide someone’s scars very easily, but I presume that that’s already been mentioned in the question as not being the correct answer. So, that being said, I think that accidental and/or wandless magic could be a good answer here. They’re really the same thing, actually, but the main difference between them is that while everyone can lose control of their magic, most people cannot_ manipulate _their magic to lose control. In fact, I think the only people who can are Dumbledore and a dark lord named Gellert Grindelwald that he fought during World War 2._

_Like I said, Harry, I don’t really know if any of this will help you out. I hope it does. If it doesn’t, though, you may want to try owling Remus, even if he is busy (with what, I don’t know. Ole Moony likes to keep his secrets sometimes.)_

_Sincerely,_

_Snuffles_

_P.S.: When you get to Hogwarts, don’t send Hedwig. She is a very smart owl, Harry, but she was rather noticeable here, and I don’t want her to get trapped by one of the locals._

_P.P.S.: Remember to call me Snuffles next time, Harry. It would not be good for you to be seen writing to an alleged mass-murderer._

After receiving the letter, Harry instantly pulled out his battered copy of _A History of Magic_ and carefully skimmed through it, looking for the possible curses that his godfather had mentioned – even if he doubted that anyone had cursed him the night before his birthday. Unfortunately, there weren’t very many references to curses in the book, and all of the curses that were referenced had very specific outcomes that did not cause a loss of magical control.

However, that wasn’t to say that the endeavor was a complete waste of time, because it wasn’t. In the surprisingly thin section of the book dealing with Britain’s magical government, an excerpt about a wizard with “lightning scars” caught his eye. Apparently, the wizard, who had been known as Wulfnoð Peverell, had played a key role in both the formation and first one-hundred and fifty years of the first magical government of the British Isles. He was described as being incredibly powerful and being a deadly foe with exceptional abilities in both wand magic, staff magic (the proto-wands that wizards had used before the Roman invasion), and _wandless_ magic, as if the first two weren’t incredible enough, considering the time period.

That was all that was written about him, though, much to Harry’s frustration. He’d even combed through the glossary of the book, looking for anymore references to the wizard, but the only other reference that he could find about the man was a mention of his family dying out when the last descendant, a woman, married into an unnamed family of wizards from Wales.

Meanwhile, whilst he had been conversing with Sirius and researching the possible causes for his magical problems, Harry was also sending letters back and forth with Ron and Hermione. The two of them, along with Sirius and Hagrid, had each sent him a cake for his fourteenth birthday, as he discovered when he had completed all of his chores that day. It was a good thing, too, because his cousin Dudley had been put on a diet by his aunt Petunia and everyone in the household was suffering because of it, especially Harry.

Like with Dumbledore and McGonagall, Harry originally had every intention of telling his two best friends about his problems. However, when push came to shove, he wound up deciding not to, for two reasons. One, Harry knew that Hermione had been vacationing in France with her parents for the three weeks, and he did not want to cause her unnecessary stress, or worse: have her insist on coming back to England without enjoying all of the time that she had with her parents, because Harry knew that she missed them during the school year quite often. And two, he also knew that if he told Ron, the ginger-haired boy would most likely find some excuse to come break him out of 4 Privet Drive with the twins again, and while Harry appreciated the thought, tensions with the Dursleys were already unimaginably high as it was.

Of course, just merely thinking that was asking for his situation to become even worse, Harry thought as he was stirred out of his train of thought by the sound of his uncle marching up the stairs. “BOY!” Uncle Vernon shouted, and Harry could already imagine the redness in the man’s face.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon?” Harry asked calmly as his uncle came to a halt right outside his door.

There was the sound of the locks on his door – _just another way for him to control me,_ Harry thought darkly – being unlatched, and then the door opened, revealing his uncle, who did indeed have a red face. He was also huffing and puffing quite ferociously. “Did you tell someone about how miserable you are here?” Uncle Vernon shouted. “Because I just – I just received a letter in the mail from somebody called Weasley!”

Harry blinked. Sure enough, there in his uncle’s clenched fist, was an envelope that was absolutely covered in stamps, save for the part that was addressed to _Mr. & Mrs. Dursley, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_, and the part from the sender, which was labeled _Mr. & Mrs. Weasley, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon_. All of it was in the very distinctive script of Mrs. Weasley’s handwriting.

“I didn’t tell anyone how miserable I was here, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said, which was partially true. He’d done his best to sound upbeat about the Dursleys in his letters to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius, but he hadn’t failed to mention just how bored and slightly depressed he was in his relatives’ home. “Actually, I told them how thrilled I was to be doing chores again – making breakfast, cleaning the house, weeding the garden...you know. Just the things that you told me to do.”

Uncle Vernon’s mustache twitched and his eyes narrowed, but he obviously didn’t truly catch on to the sarcasm in Harry’s statement. Nevertheless, he grunted out to Harry in an angry voice, “Go downstairs to the living room. We will speak more about this...this _nonsense_ there.”

Knowing better than to argue, Harry carefully stood up and did as he was told. His uncle’s beady eyes watched him the entire time and, when he had walked out of his room and down the stairs, the man made sure to slam the room to his door to make clear just how irritated with Harry he was.

Inside the living room, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already sitting together on one of the couches. _Ah_ , Harry couldn’t help but think. _So it’s a family meeting then._ Joy _._

When he walked into the room, his aunt glared at him with her large, watery eyes. “What did you do?” she hissed, in a way that made it clear that she wasn’t going to believe him no matter what he said or did.

So, Harry went with the simplest answer. “Nothing, Aunt Petunia,” he said honestly, but all she did was glare at him harder in response.

A few moments later, Uncle Vernon walked into the room, his face set in an angry scowl. “Sit, boy,” he ordered Harry.

Harry sat.

“Now, let’s just see what this letter is about,” Uncle Vernon said with tight grin. He then proceeded to open the envelope, which caused loose stamps to fall off of it and onto the floor, before he took out the letter with his thick fingers and instantly began to read it.

“ _Mr. and Mrs. Dursley_ ,” he read. “ _I know that we have never been introduced, but my name is Molly Weasley. I am the mother of Ron, who I am sure Harry has told you quite a good deal about._

“ _As I’m sure that you must know through Harry, the Quidditch World Cup this year is taking place in England next Thursday. My husband, Arthur, has managed to secure several prime tickets through his connections at his workplace, and we are both willing for Harry to come with our family on this event. Although I will not be going, Arthur will, along with our three eldest sons, who are all of age and quite responsible young men._

“ _I do hope that you will allow Harry to come to the match with us, as this is truly a once-in-lifetime opportunity. The last time that either Britain or Ireland hosted the Cup was over thirty years ago, and tickets – much less prime tickets – are extremely hard to come by. We are also very willing to have Harry stay with us for the remainder of the holidays, and see him off to Hogwarts come September 1st. I will also be buying all of the children’s school supplies while they are at the Cup, so you will not have to worry about shopping in Diagon Alley._

“ _It would be best for Harry to send your reply by owl as quickly as possible, because I am afraid that the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house and most likely doesn’t even know where it is. Still, seeing as how the Cup is still a week away, sending your response through the postman is also fine, because I am sure that we can figure something out._

“ _Sincerely, Molly Weasley_ ,” Vernon finished, before he squinted down at the bottom of the page and also read out, “ _P.S.: I do hope that we put enough stamps on._ ”

By the end of the letter, Harry’s uncle was even redder in the face than before, while his aunt’s was the color of bone. Next to her, Dudley whimpered ever so slightly and shrunk into his seat.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it. It was a good thing to do, because in the next moment Vernon turned to him, a vicious sneer on his face as he ground out, “Who is this woman, boy?”

“It’s as she said,” Harry replied. “She’s one of my friend’s mother. She met him off Hog – sorry, off the school train at the end of last term.”

He had almost said “off of the Hogwarts Express”, which would have made things even more disastrous than they already were. As it was, Vernon was still looking at him with an angry scowl as he said, “You mean that dumpy red-haired woman with all of those children?”

Harry gritted his teeth. Of course his uncle would call someone else “dumpy” and refuse to recognize that his own son fit the definition perfectly, which was why Dudley had been put on a diet in the first place. “Yes, Uncle Vernon,” he replied. “That’s her.”

His uncle looked back at the letter again, seemingly reading it through once more, before he turned to look at Harry. Although he still looked very angry and his face was beginning to turn a nice shade of purple, there was something... _peculiar_ shining in his eyes. “Do you want to go on this trip, boy?” he asked, his voice strangely calm.

Petunia suddenly gasped from where she was sitting on the other couch. “Vernon,” she protested. “You can’t honestly – ”

But Harry’s uncle merely shook his head. “Answer my question, boy!” he ordered Harry, his lack of patience already starting to bleed through his voice.

“I – uh – yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied quickly, almost unable to believe what he was hearing. Was his uncle _actually_ considering letting him go to the Quidditch World Cup? “I would like to go with them.”

His uncle nodded, most likely already knowing that that would be Harry’s answer. “As much as I do not want you to go, boy,” Vernon sneered. “This offer is... _tempting_. You would be gone for the rest of the summer, and we would not have to take you to that – that _place_ where you get your school supplies, only for you to be ungrateful for our generosity.”

Harry doubted that his relatives even knew where Diagon Alley was, because they had never taken him there, not even for his first year. He also doubted that they cared enough about his school supplies to take him there this summer, or any other summer that would follow. Nevertheless, he still kept his mouth shut, because this was an opportunity that he couldn’t just let go to waste.

“But,” Vernon continued, oblivious to the snide comments that Harry was silently making. “We will need... _assurances_.”

“Assurances, Uncle?” Harry asked.

He saw Petunia begin to smirk out of the corner of his eyes, while Dudley grinned triumphantly.

“You will do more chores than you have been,” Harry’s uncle declared. “And you will do every single one of them without questionor snide remark. And when you are not doing your chores or eating with the rest of us, you will be in your room at all times. Do I make myself clear, boy?”

Harry almost breathed out a sigh of relief. Because although having to do many chores would seem like unbearable agony to some, Harry had figured that his uncle was going to make him do something much, much worse than that. Like, for instance, locking him in his room with only soup for food and water again. “Yes, Uncle Vernon,” he said, while he did his best to hide the relief he was feeling.

The man grunted in response. “If you do all of these things without fail, we will let you go with these _Weasleys_ to this – this Quidditch Word Cup, or whatever it’s called. If you don’t, you will stay home and do even more chores for the rest of the summer. Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry repeated.

“Good,” Vernon said. “Now, reply to this woman and tell her that we will be expecting her by next Wednesday at noon. If they are late, you will not get to go at all.” When Harry did not instantly move, his uncle then barked, “Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Go write that letter!”

Harry quickly got up and walked out of the room, not wanting to risk his uncle’s ire. He then proceeded to walk up the stairs and go into his room, and it wasn’t until he shut the door behind him that he let a large grin spread across his face. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, before he turned to look at his owl. “Hedwig, I can’t – ”

He stopped speaking abruptly, because although Hedwig was looking at him attentively, there was a small, grey owl right next to her. The owl, which he vaguely recognized as Ron’s new pet, let out a large, excited hoot in greeting, before it jumped off of the perch and flew over to his bed, where an envelope was waiting. “Oh,” Harry said. “Did Ron send a letter too?”

The owl let out another excited hoot, as if in agreement.

Harry grabbed the envelope off of his bed before he tore it open and read the contents:

_Dear Harry,_

_I’m sure you’ve already heard about it through my mum’s letter, but my dad got tickets to the QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP! Ten tickets, to be exact, so my mum said that you and Hermione could come with us! (She’s not exactly a fan of Quidditch, you see, which is a bit barmy considering how much the rest of our family loves it – even Percy!)_

_Also, we’re coming for you whether the muggles want you to go or not. If they’re fine with it, send Pig (yes, I know. It’s a lousy name. Blame Ginny for it) back with your answer as soon as you can and Dad says we’ll come get you this Wednesday at noon. If not – well, send Pig back with your answer as soon as you can anyways, and we’ll still come get you at noon. Mum just thought that the muggle mail and politeness might win your relatives over._

_Oh, and before I forget, Hermione says hello. She got here as soon as we Floo’d her up and asked if she wanted to come with us. Yes, her parents have a Floo and everything! They seem to be almost as mental as she is – in a good way, of course._

_We’ll see you soon, Harry, regardless as to what the muggles have to say about it,_

_Ron (and Hermione)_

_P.S.: Percy’s started work at the Ministry, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don’t mention anything about other countries while you’re here, because otherwise he’ll talk your ears off for an hour about it!_

By the time that he had finished the letter, Harry’s smile had widened even further, if that was at all possible. Hastily, he grabbed one of his quills and his pot of ink from underneath his bed, along with a small piece of parchment that he wrote the following on:

_Ron (and Hermione),_

_Don’t worry, my relatives said that I could come. I’ll tell them that you’ll be here on Wednesday at twelve o’clock. Can’t wait,_

_Harry_

Harry then folded up the small piece of parchment and tied it to Pig the owl, who began to hop from foot to foot as if in anticipation of its journey. And as soon as Harry let go of the owl, it zoomed out of the window and on its way, causing him to chuckle slightly at the absurdity of it all.

After that, Harry then proceeded to take out another piece of parchment. He then wrote a quick letter to Sirius, explaining that he would be with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer, before he sent Hedwig off it. She had seemed a little peeved at Pig, as if his rambunctiousness behavior had somehow offended her on a deep, personal level.

As he watched his snowy owl fly off into the distance a few minutes later, Harry couldn’t help but feel, magical problems or not, everything with him was going to be fine.

Little did he know how very wrong he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: The Visit
> 
> Ending Notes: You won’t see these often from me, but there’s a few chances that I made to canon mentions that shouldn’t have been changed yet, so I’m going to explain them here. According to the Harry Potter wikia (which probably isn’t the best source to go off of, but it’s the only source with dates for the most part), the Quidditch World Cup took place on August 18th, 1994...which was a Thursday, not a Monday. Since JKR has admitted she screws up dates sometimes, I’m keeping the Cup date on Thursday, for continuity purposes. I also pushed Arthur getting the tickets back to a week before the Cup, because I figure the Dursleys would’ve been much more willing to let Harry go if they could exploit him in return.
> 
> Once again, I’ll see you on Thursday,  
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis


	4. Chapter 3: The Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, guys! Here I am, back with the third chapter (well, technically fourth) of this story! Unfortunately, though, this is gonna be the last chapter for a while. You see, I have some critical exams coming up in the next two weeks – on May 13th, May 20th, and May 21st, to be precise. Originally, I was just gonna hold off on updating on those days, but I think I’m going to instead take the next two weeks off entirely in order to 1) not stress myself out too much for those exams (I get stress-sick, you see) and 2) to catch up on writing for both this story and my other one. I know this decision may seem rather sudden, but I’ve been debating what to do for like the entire week and this was the best choice that I came up with. I hope you all understand. :)
> 
> So, that being said, the next update will be on Tuesday, May 26th, instead of Tuesday, May 12th. In the meantime, though, I hope that all of you take care and stay safe! Seriously. Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do. ;)
> 
> Sincerely,  
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Wednesday, 17 August 1994  
Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain_ **

**Over the course of the week after his uncle had decided he could go with the Weasleys to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry practically became a servant for his relatives.** While before he had only had fix breakfast, clean the house, and tend to the garden, he now had to make all of the meals, clean the house and the car, tend to the garden, and pretty much wait on his aunt’s hand and foot when he wasn’t doing anything else. The only “free time” – that is to say, time locked in his room – that he had was at the end of the day, and by that time he was too tired to do anything else except sleep, so the idea of finishing his potions essay was one that was quickly forgotten.

But exhaustion wasn’t the only problem that he had from doing his chores, because the Dursleys seemed determined to make him slip up somehow so that he wouldn’t get to go to the Cup at all, or so they thought. They criticized his work when he had finished a certain chore, complained that he spent too long or too little on a particular task, and belittled him indirectly when they had company – who were all his aunt’s “friends” – over. Each time they said one of these things, they watched him with their beady eyes, just waiting for him to complain or shout back.

He never did, though, even if he was really tempted to. Instead, he simply gritted his teeth and reminded himself that, even if the Weasleys were coming to get him regardless if his relatives allowed him to go, they could still make his life even more of a living hell before then or even after he came back for the following summer.

On Wednesday morning, the day that the Weasleys were supposed to arrive, Harry pulled on one of his best-fitting shirts (they were all Dudley’s hand-me-downs and horribly stretched), hoping that the long sleeves of the shirt would cover up the scars that were on his arms. Because although the Dursleys had never noticed the scars, he figured that that could easily be explained away by them either not caring enough to pay attention or just being muggles. Maybe both.

“How do I look, Hedwig?” Harry asked his owl as he turned to look at her.

Hedwig gave an undignified hoot in response.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, before he walked over to her cage and opened the door. “But they’re the only clothes I got besides my school robes, and I’m pretty sure Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would throw a conniption fit if I wore those instead.”

His owl hooted again as she jumped up onto his arm and nibbled at his ear. Harry laughed. “Okay, girl. I get it! You think I should wear the robes instead. We’re just going to have to agree to disagree, okay?”

As he spoke, he turned away from the cage and to the window, which was – as always during the summer – slightly ajar. He pulled it the rest of the way open, before he looked at Hedwig and said, “Alright, go on. I don’t care what you do. Just remember that we’re going to be at the Burrow for the rest of the summer, okay? And stay safe. Don’t get into any fights.”

Hedwig hooted out what he liked to think was an affirmative, before she jumped off of his arm and flew out the window. Harry watched her go for a few minutes, as she slowly but surely became a smaller and smaller speck in the sky, before he let out a sigh and shut the window. He then proceeded to walk over to his bed, where he pulled out his trunk from underneath it and checked to make sure that all of his things were packed and ready to go. It wouldn’t do for him to forget something important, after all, especially when his aunt would throw it out while he was away.

After double-checking his trunk, Harry stood up and walked downstairs, as it was already almost half past seven and his relatives had been even harsher about their breakfast being served on time this past week. He made the eggs and toast, cut the grapefruit (substituting bacon with grapefruit was something that Petunia had insisted on for Dudley’s diet), put on a pot of coffee, and set the table. When the food was finished, he doled out the portions (with his uncle getting the most food, then Dudley, then Petunia, and then himself), poured coffee into his uncle and aunt’s mugs, and checked the time on the wall clock. _7:59_.

 _At least they can’t attack me for not having breakfast on time today,_ Harry thought just as his three relatives bumbled their way into the room.

At first, the three of them ate in relative silence. Harry, of course, didn’t say anything at all, because that was simply not a wise thing for him to do. Still, that didn’t stop him from looking at his relatives and noting how his aunt’s eyes were constantly flickering back and forth, how his cousin let out a quiet whimper every now and then (probably at the prospect of having a pig’s tail charmed onto his grotesque behind again), and how his uncle was wearing his best suit, a tell-tale sign that he meant to intimidate someone in a businesslike manner, even if he had taken the day off in order to make sure the Weasleys didn’t cause anything “funny” to happen while he wasn’t around.

However, as much as he liked watching his relatives be finally rendered speechless for more than just a few seconds, it was unfortunately not meant to last. Because after a few minutes, Uncle Vernon suddenly turned to look at Harry, with an expression that looked to be a mixture of reluctance, anger, and disgust. “Well, boy,” he said. “You did everything that you were told to do, with no complaints or snide remarks. If I didn’t know any better, I would even say that you are almost grateful for our _generosity_ , despite the attitude that you have displayed ever since we took you into our home, clothed you, and fed you.”

 _“What generosity?”_ Harry wanted to ask. _“Ever since I can remember, you’ve barely clothed me and fed me, and every time I try to say so you just say I’m not grateful enough! So, really, what generosity are you referring to?”_

Instead of asking that, though, he kept his mouth shut.

“So I suppose,” his uncle continued. “That you may go to this – this _Cup_ of yours. But I must say, boy, now that we’ve come to see just how well you can earn your keep in this house, we are not likely to forget it come next summer when you return.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said as blankly as he could manage.

A strange look then suddenly appeared on his uncle’s face. It almost looked...dare he say _pensive_? No, that was quite impossible, because he doubted that his uncle had ever had a pensive moment in his entire life. Still, the look was there nevertheless, and after a few moments, his uncle suddenly asked with a slowly reddening face, “You did tell these – these _Weasleys_ to dress normally, didn’t you, boy? I’ve seen the stuff that you lot wear and it is hardly appropriate.”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t quite thought of that. Truth be told, the twins and Ron always wore muggle clothes underneath their robes while at Hogwarts – as far as he was aware, the twins got them from Angelina Johnson, who was a muggleborn, and Ron got most of their clothes as hand-me-downs, even if the twins were stockier than he was. Ginny, too, wore muggle clothes, but Harry knew that Hermione had been giving the girl the clothes that she outgrew for the last year or so, so that was why. But as for the rest of the Weasleys...

“I think they’ll be wearing normal clothes,” Harry replied after a few moments of hesitation, just before his uncle opened his mouth to bark at him again. “My other friend she – her parents aren’t...like us, so she knows how important it is to blend in.”

Vernon ‘humphed’ in response. “And just how are they getting here?” he added a moment later, the prospect of the Weasleys coming by some sort of magical means obviously bothering him.

Once again, Harry blinked. “I – I think they’ll be driving?” he said, but the fact that he stated it more as a question and less as a response obviously bothered both his uncle and his aunt, if the fact that she sniffed haughtily was anything to go by.

Meanwhile, Vernon’s face picked up the pace in its reddening. “You think, boy?” he growled out. “What do you mean, ‘you think’?”

“I – I know they were in the talks about getting a new one,” Harry said, carefully choosing not to mention the fact that he had been the direct cause of them losing their first car in the first place. “Their first one was a Ford Anglia.”

He mentioned the last bit specifically in the hopes of distracting his uncle, who always judged other men by their cars. Unfortunately, Vernon didn’t seem to care about what kind of car Arthur Weasley drove, but then again Mr. Weasley was very much a wizard, which Harry knew was more than enough evidence to cause his uncle to hate the other man.

After that, they all returned to the silence from before for the rest of their meal. When his relatives had finished eating, they all left the kitchen one-by-one, leaving Harry to do the dishes. But Harry wasn’t going to complain; doing the dishes was one of the things that he had always secretly relished doing, because when he did them he was usually the only one in the kitchen, and thus had a few minutes of privacy to himself outside of his room.

The rest of the morning passed in a similar manner. Harry did the chores that the Dursleys had assigned him to do that morning before he left – which mainly amounted to making sure that the house looked absolutely spotless – and they all kept clear of him, which was a nice change from the way that they had been acting for the past week. In fact, it was only at a quarter till noon that his relatives made their way into the living room, where Petunia started to fluff cushions and Vernon started to pretend to read the newspaper. Dudley sat on one of the sofas and promptly took out one of his new gaming devices, which was handheld and much more portable than any of the other ones that he had.

The next fifteen or so minutes were unbelievably tense. No one said a single word, although Vernon did sigh when the first five and ten minutes passed, as if he expected the Weasleys to arrive earlier rather than on time. But Harry knew that he would’ve probably been irritated more than anything else if that were the case, because his uncle had a knack for finding something to complain about, regardless of the kind of situation that he was in.

At precisely one minute before noon, there was a sudden rapping at the front door. Petunia jumped in her seat at the sound, while Dudley suddenly whimpered and, with his handheld gaming device still in his hand, promptly got up and ran out of the room, before he ran up the stairs to (most likely) go to his room. Harry watched him go with no small amount of amusement.

Vernon looked to Harry then, as if he was expecting him to get the door himself, before he shook his head and stood up without saying a single word. Harry wordlessly followed after him, even if Petunia opened her mouth to protest at first before she closed it, suddenly looking like she had swallowed a rather large lemon.

Harry’s uncle opened the door, revealing Mr. Weasley – who was wearing shabby robes that could almost pass for an odd, eccentric suit of the sorts – and Ron. “Hello!” Mr. Weasley greeted them with a large smile on his face. “How do you do, Mr. Dursley? I’m Arthur. My wife, Molly, sent you a letter last week asking if Harry could stay with us for the rest of the summer.”

“I know,” Vernon ground out, sounding as if he thought Mr. Weasley thought that he was an idiot. “ _Please_...come in.”

Mr. Weasley and Ron did just that. “Hello, Harry!” the former greeted him as soon as he saw him, standing just behind his uncle. “All packed up? Things ready to go?”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley,” Harry replied pleasantly. “My things are just upstairs. I can go get them.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ron said quickly, as he gave Harry’s uncle a look that was somewhere between hatred and disgust.

“That’s the spirit,” Mr. Weasley grinned. As the two of them bounded up the stairs, they heard him remark to Vernon, “By the way, what splendid houses you and the people who live here have! Are they supposed to be that way because of your construction techniques, or did it happen on accident?”

Harry tried not to snicker as they walked down the hallway, past Dudley’s room. “How has the past week been?” he asked his best friend as they entered into his room.

“It’s been alright,” Ron replied with a shrug. “We were all kind of nervous about today. I mean – ”

“You mean that Hermione and probably your mum as well were worried about how my relatives were going to react to wizards showing up to their house,” Harry interjected with a grin.

Ron flushed. “Yeah, pretty much,” he admitted. “Originally Dad was going to have us come by Floo and bring the twins with us, but Hermione said it might be better if just the two of us came by portkey instead. Something about how your uncle and aunt wouldn’t react well to people coming out of their fireplace, and that the twins might cause some sort of havoc with Dudley.”

“It’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it,” Harry replied, before he frowned and scrunched up his face in confusion. “What’s a portkey?”

Ron stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t know what a portkey is?” he asked rhetorically. “Well, it’s kind of like the Floo, except there’s no Floo powder involved and you can go wherever you want, presuming there’s no wards around the place, of course. They can be any sort of object – the one that Dad had the Ministry charm for him is a rubber duck.”

This time, Harry did snicker. “Oh, I bet he enjoyed that.”

“I think he was more ecstatic than he usually is when it comes to muggle ‘artifacts’, and that’s saying something,” Ron agreed, before an expression of concern settled over his face. “How has your summer been?” he asked, before he hurriedly added, “I know that you’ve said it was fine and all, but Hermione wanted me to ask you if everything really has been...fine. Something about your letters since your birthday made her a little bit worried.”

Harry froze. Hermione hadn’t somehow found out about what had happened the night before his birthday, had she? “Everything’s been fine,” he said after a few moments’ worth of hesitation. “Something weird happened on the night before my birthday, but Sirius said it wasn’t anything I should be worried about.”

“‘Something weird’?” Ron pressed with a frown. “What happened?”

“I – uh – it’s kind of embarrassing,” Harry replied quickly, while he mentally berated himself for bringing Sirius into his lie. “It’s – ”

“Guy stuff?” Ron suddenly guessed.

Quickly, Harry nodded. “Yeah, guy stuff.”

Ron grinned. “Figures,” he said. “‘Course Hermione would worry about it because she doesn’t really understand it – not that her worrying is a bad thing. At least, not anymore. Here, let me help you with your trunk.”

Together, the two boys grabbed Harry’s trunk and pulled it out of his room and down the stairs, along with Hedwig’s cage. As they passed the door to Dudley’s room, Harry thought for a moment that his cousin had pulled open the door just a smidgeon to look at them. But then he decided that such a thing was probably a figment of his imagination.

At the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Weasley was talking rather animatedly to Vernon and Petunia, who had come out of the living room, although she still had that souring look on her face. At the sound of their footsteps, all three of them turned to look at him and Ron. “Excellent!” Mr. Weasley said. “The portkey will be about ready to go in a few minutes. Mr. Dursley, Mrs. Dursley, I hope that you don’t mind if we use it in here? It won’t make any mess to your home, I promise.”

The looks on the faces of Harry’s uncle and aunt proved that they did, in fact, mind. But, neither of them said anything, instead choosing to keep silent whilst they glared at the man.

Mr. Weasley wasn’t fazed, though. “Alright then,” he said, this time a little less jovially. “Harry, are you going to say goodbye to your uncle and aunt?”

Harry turned to Vernon and Petunia. “Erm, bye,” he said. “See you next summer.”

Neither of them replied.

Mr. Weasley, who had been in the process of pulling the rubber duck portkey out of one of his robes’ pockets, frowned and turned to look at them. “Are you going to say goodbye as well?” he asked them.

Both Harry and Ron shuffled nervously. “Mr. Weasley,” Harry said quickly. “It’s fine. Really.”

“No, it’s not,” the older wizard replied, as he scowled at Vernon and Petunia. “Harry is going away for the rest of the summer,” he said. “And he won’t be back until next summer. Do you really not want to say goodbye? Tell him to be safe? To not get into any trouble?”

Harry felt himself flush. “Mr. Weasley, really, it’s fine,” he insisted.

The red-haired man looked like he wanted to say again that it wasn’t, but at that moment, the rubber duck in his hands began to vibrate. “Dear me,” Mr. Weasley said. “Just a minute now. Quick, Ron, Harry, give me the trunk and the cage.”

The two of them moved the trunk and cage towards Mr. Weasley, who promptly took out his wand and, with a flourish, said, “ _Reducio_!”

The trunk and cage shrunk in size. Vernon spluttered indignantly while Petunia shrieked and ran out of the room. Mr. Weasley quickly picked up the trunk and the cage and put them, along with his wand, in his pocket. Then, he turned to Ron and Harry and gestured for them to come forward. “Quickly, boys,” he said. “Grasp the rubber duck tightly. Ron, don’t laugh; it isn’t that funny.”

The boy in question looked like he wanted to disagree. Still, both he and Harry reached out and grabbed the rubber duck with a hand each. As they did so, Harry took one last look at 4 Privet Drive, at the wallpaper and the doorways to the living room and kitchen, at the staircase that led the way to his bedroom, and even at the door for the cupboard under the stairs. He didn’t know why, but in that moment a sudden rush of feeling came over him – a feeling that this was the last time that he would ever see or step foot in his relatives’ home ever again.

In the next instant, all thought about his relatives and their house was quickly forgotten, because suddenly the rubber duck _moved_ , and Harry found himself (along with Ron and Mr. Weasley) being pulled along with it with a sharp tug from somewhere just behind his navel. He let out a short shout in surprise, but it was soon drowned out by the sound of the roaring wind, and everything was suddenly spinning very, very quickly. In fact, everything was spinning so fast that Harry’s mind began to spin as well, and the last thing that he remembered was letting out another shout – this one from dizziness and pain – before his entire world turned black once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Magnetic Shock


	5. Chapter 4: Magnetic Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you all had a wonderful past two weeks and that they weren't nearly as busy as mine were! I wound up not having as much time to write as I thought I was going to, and for that I sincerely apologize, but I'm going to do my best to remain on schedule ;)
> 
> The next chapter will be uploaded on Thursday (although it might be later in the day than usual – we'll see), so I'll see you all then. Until then, though, stay safe!
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

_**Wednesday, 17 August 1994  
** _ _**The Burrow, Devon, England, Great Britain** _

_**He was standing in the black void again, he realized when he opened his eyes and couldn't see anything.** He was lost in the endless void, lost in a place between time and space, and there wasn't anything he could do about it, if the first dream involving the void was a good indicator._

_Somewhere in the void, the same peal of childish laughter rang out. "You are so confusing, Harry," the voice of Lily Moon, one of the Gryffindor girls in his year, said. "You think so enigmatically, it's no wonder many of the ones we have chosen for you find you so mysterious."_

_"But it's an endearing trait, to be sure," the voice of Sophie Roper, a Ravenclaw who was also in his year, added. "And one of the many reasons why they will all come to love you as much as we do."_

Who are these "ones" that you are talking about? And just who are you? _he mentally asked the void, because he still couldn't quite locate where the voices were coming from._

_"All in due time, Harry," Katie Bell's voice told him. "All in due time. You'd only get confused if we told you now."_

_"Or angry," the small voice of Sally-Anne Perks, another Gryffindor girl in his year, added. "And we don't want you to get angry. At least, not before it's time."_

Why would I get angry? _he thought._

_There was no answer. Instead, there was another peal of that laughter, and then there was the distinct sensation of everything becoming foggier. He realized that this meant that he was going to wake up again. But this time, he didn't stop it; instead, he let himself go back to the world of the living, although for what reason, he didn't know. He couldn't remember._

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open.

He was lying down in the grass, his face mushed into the ground and his glasses askew. Waves of nausea rolled in his stomach and, with a groan, he brought a hand to his mouth instinctively as he sat up, his gag reflex gave a worrisome lurch in the process.

"Alright there, Harry?" the voice of Mr. Weasley asked him.

Harry looked up. The Weasley patriarch was standing above him, looking concerned. "I'm fine," Harry answered.

Mr. Weasley smiled sympathetically. "Traveling by portkey can be a bit of a rough go for the first few times or so," he said as he helped Harry to his feet. "But you'll get used to it, I promise."

After he had fully gotten to his feet, Harry looked around at their surroundings. They were standing a few yards away from the Burrow, which he couldn't help but think looked as homely and inviting as ever. Ron was just sitting up a little ways away, his face tinged a slight shade of green, letting Harry know that his best friend had had problems with the portkey, too...although, he didn't think that having another strange dream was one of them.

Harry frowned at the thought. He must've passed out, he realized, if only for a minute or two. Usually, he would've thought that that duration of unconsciousness was much too short for him to dream, especially when he had passed out rather than fallen asleep, but he knew that magic could be weird. Especially when his magic had inflicted harm on him in the first place.

Suddenly, the back door of the Burrow swung open, and Hermione came rushing out, a smile on her face and her hair as bushy as ever. "Harry!" she greeted him, as she reached out to pull him into a hug. "I'm so happy that you're – _oh_!"

Harry's female best friend suddenly gasped, because as soon as she had wrapped her arms around him, a jolt of electricity went through him and into her, rendering both of them speechless. It was almost as if he had had a buildup of static electricity and had passed it onto her, but the voltage was much higher and left a strange taste in Harry's mouth – a taste that he instinctively identified as something colored golden-green.

Hermione let go of him as soon as the shock had ended, and smiled up at him with a slightly bemused expression on her face. "You shocked me," she remarked.

"Err, sorry?" Harry said in response. "I must've had a buildup of static electricity or something like that. My bad."

As he spoke, Harry's entire perspective of world seemingly shifted, as if he had been seeing everything upside down when really, everything was downside up. Because suddenly, Hermione was not just his female best friend who was sometimes too smart or too stubborn for her own good – she was something _more_ , something _beautiful_. Her bushy brown hair was like a halo around her beautiful face, and her chocolate brown eyes were like no other pair of eyes that he had ever seen before.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked after he had done nothing but stare at her whilst his face slowly flushed for several moments.

Harry blinked. "Err, nothing's wrong," he replied quickly. "Just...it's good to see you, Hermione."

She smiled. "It's good to see you, too, Harry."

"Oi," Ron suddenly said, causing the two of them to look at him. At first, Harry thought that his other best friend might have been mad for some reason he couldn't explain, but there was a playful grin on his face and his eyes were alight with amusement. "What am I, Hermione? Chopped liver?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I've seen you all week, Ron," she said playfully. "But I haven't seen Harry all summer. Of course I'm going to be more excited to see him than you."

Ron laughed. "I was only teasing," he replied, before he turned to look at Harry, his face suddenly brightening up. "Oh, Harry! You haven't met Bill and Charlie yet, have you? Come on, they're just inside!"

With that, the three friends walked inside the Burrow. Mr. Weasley had already gone inside, and Harry saw him in the kitchen, greeting his wife. Also in the kitchen were two people that he assumed were the eldest Weasley brothers, if their ginger-red hair and freckles was any indicator. They were both sitting at the kitchen table, watching their parents with something akin to amusement on their faces.

The one that was sitting closer to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, was shorter and stockier, like Fred and George. His hair was rather short, and he had a deep tan that belied the fact that he spent a lot of time outdoors. Various burn scars were on his arms, as well as his shoulder, judging by how one was on his collarbone and just peaking out of his shirt. _This must be Charlie,_ Harry thought.

Sure enough, the man grinned when he saw Harry and said, "You must be Harry Potter. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Charlie, and this useless bag of meat is Bill, also known as the eldest of us lot."

He clapped a hand on Bill's shoulder, who looked both amused and unimpressed at his brother's antics. Harry could already tell that the eldest Weasley brother was a bit taller and slimmer than Charlie, making him look more like Ron and Percy. His ginger-red hair was also quite a bit longer, to the point where he wore it in a loose ponytail. He also had a fang earring in his ear, which just made Harry decidedly think then and there that he was _cool_.

"Hello, Harry," Bill greeted him with a smile of his own. "Excited for the World Cup tomorrow?"

Harry grinned. "You bet."

"Ron was just telling us the other day how good of a Seeker you are," Charlie said. "Caught your first snitch in your mouth, didn't you? That's a feat that even I couldn't pull off, and I could've made a professional career out of Quidditch."

"You liked your magical creatures too much to do that, Charlie, dear," Mrs. Weasley suddenly interjected from just behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry turned to look at her, only to be enveloped in one of her bone-crushing hugs. "It's so nice to see you, Harry! I hope your _relatives_ were treating you well, dear – Arthur was just telling me about them."

Harry didn't think that he had ever heard Mrs. Weasley say anything with as much disdain as she did "relatives" right then. But it wasn't like the Dursleys didn't deserve it. "They were okay, Mrs. Weasley," he answered her after she let him go and he could breathe again. "As okay as they will ever be, anyways."

Mrs. Weasley 'tsked'. "You're much too thin, Harry," she said. "Practically skin and bones, even. Oh, well. We'll put as much meat on your bones as we can between now and the beginning of the school year." She paused for a moment, then looked at him with a calculating expression. "Have you eaten lunch yet?" she asked, before she hurriedly added, "Of course you haven't. I'll make you something to eat right now, Harry. It'll be just a minute."

With a shake of his head and another grin, Harry sat down at the table with Bill and Charlie. Ron and Hermione moved to do the same, but Mr. Weasley stopped the former with, "Ron, can you take Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage upstairs for me, please?"

Ron scrunched up his face, but nevertheless acquiesced to his father's demand after Mr. Weasley un-shrunk Harry's trunk and his owl's cage. Harry watched his best friend leave the kitchen, and in the process he caught sight of someone with long, ginger-red hair. "Ginny? Is that you?" he called out.

In the next moment, the youngest Weasley child and only daughter appeared, with the familiar blush that always graced her cheeks whenever Harry was around. "Hi, Harry," she greeted him shyly as she walked into the kitchen. "How has your summer been?"

"It's been alright," Harry replied noncommittally, before he asked, "What about yours? How has your summer been?"

Ginny shrugged as she moved to sit down next to him. "About the same as any other summer," she said.

"Now, that's not true!" Charlie protested humorously. "It's not every summer that you get to go see the Quidditch World Cup!"

"But that hasn't happened yet, has it?" Ginny suddenly replied wittily, causing Harry to blink in shock. He had never seen this side to her before, after all, except for maybe that moment with the Malfoys at Flourish and Blotts the previous summer. "Harry asked me how my summer has been, Charlie, not how it will – _ow_!"

Ginny, who had just sat down right next to Harry, suddenly recoiled. "What was that?" she asked, before she turned to look at him with an accusing glare. "Did you just pull a prank on me?"

Harry blinked. Ginny looked kind of cute when she was mad, he suddenly realized as he stared at her, speechless. Not like Hermione – although, now that he got to thinking about it, Hermione kind of looked cute when she was angry, too. No, there was something distinctly different about Ginny's anger...perhaps it was the way that her angry blush complimented her ginger-red hair, or the way that her dark brown eyes were alight with fury...

 _...Wait,_ Harry thought as he pulled himself out of his sudden daydreaming. _What am I thinking? I've never felt this way about girls before! Well, except for Cho Chang, that is, but that is – was? – different. Cho's very..._

He meant to think that _Cho's very pretty_ but he wound up not being able to finish that thought, for two reasons. One, for some reason, in that instance he did find Cho attractive at all. It was like all thought about her beauty and cute Scottish accent had vanished, and now he saw her as nothing more than a friend, if even that. And two, Hermione suddenly said with a curious tone, "Did Harry shock you? He shocked me earlier, too! He must have be a buildup of static electricity."

Mr. Weasley perked up. "Static eclecticity?" he asked. "Oh, I've heard about that! It happens to muggles when they rub their socks on their carpets, correct?"

"It can happen to wizards too, Dad," Bill replied, with a slight frown on his face. "Our wards just usually prevent it...maybe I should go check on them..."

With that, the eldest Weasley brother stood up and walked out of the kitchen, with Charlie trailing after him with an equally worried look on his face. Harry watched them go, and watched Ron walk back into the room a few moments later, with a confused expression on his face. "What was that all about?" he asked.

"Nothing, dear," Mrs. Weasley said as she placed a plate that held a corned beef sandwich, crisps, and a pickle in front of Harry. "Here you go, Harry. You do like corned beef, don't you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley, thank you," Harry said, before he grabbed the sandwich and dug in, just as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny began a conversation about who they thought was going to win the Cup tomorrow. Both Ron and Ginny were rooting for Ireland, but Hermione was decidedly not placing bets, as she wasn't really familiar with either team, or Quidditch at all, really, outside of Hogwarts.

The rest of the day passed much in a similar manner. After he had had his lunch, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny went outside and spent several hours near the pond that was full of frogs. The two siblings kept on trying to convince Hermione to admit that Ireland was the superior team, and eventually Harry joined the bandwagon too, much to his bushy-haired friend's frustration. But they also talked more in depth about how their summers had gone so far, who they thought was going to be the next DADA teacher, and what elective classes Ginny had chosen to take (Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures, much to Hermione's pleasure and Ron's annoyance).

While they were talking, though, Harry couldn't help but secretly think about the oddity of the second dream and his newfound attraction to Hermione and Ginny, as well as his sudden loss of attraction to Cho. Obviously, the second dream had to be connected to the first dream and, through it, his faulty magic. But what about the changes in his attraction to the three different girls? And why did his attraction to Hermione and Ginny seemingly only change after he had shocked them when they had touched him or come near to him?

The best answer was that his attraction was somehow tied to his magic, he knew – or perhaps, it was more like his magic was somehow tied to his magic. After all, hadn't he heard both Ginny and Hermione's voices in his first dream? He'd also heard the voices of Daphne Greengrass and Susan Bones, who were both objectively beautiful girls – in fact, the former was considered to be one of the most beautiful girls in the school, while the latter was well-known for having the largest bust in his year at Hogwarts. And of course, Katie Bell, Lily Moon, Sally-Anne Perks, and Sophie Roper were all beautiful girls too...

At sometime around four, if the way that it was just beginning to get dark out was any indicator, Bill and Charlie suddenly walked outside, their wands in hand. Both of them were laughing and teasing each other, almost as if Bill's mentioning of the wards earlier had been forgotten. But it hadn't been forgotten by Ginny, because she suddenly stood up and shouted with a determined expression on her face, "Bill! Charlie! How are the wards?"

Both of the eldest Weasley brothers turned to look at her. "Oh, so here's where you all ran off to," Bill said. "Mum was getting a little worried about you lot. The wards are fine – must've been a weird fluke or something like that."

Hermione turned to look at Harry and Ron. " _Fluke_?" she mouthed silently, her expression curious.

Ron shrugged.

"Dinner's going to be ready in a bit," Charlie added helpfully. "We're having an early dinner tonight, so that you all can get to bed in good time for tomorrow. Bill and I were just about to charm some of the spare tables out here. I'd ask you all to help, but – well – "

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we know, Charlie," he said. "We're not of age yet. You don't have to rub it in our faces."

"Would you lot mind going into the kitchen and helping Mum?" Bill asked kindly. "I think she wants you two," here, he waved to Hermione and Ginny, "to bring out the plates and you two," he waved to Harry and Ron, "to bring out the silverware."

Ron looked like he wanted to protest, but a quick and not-so-subtle elbowing on Harry's part prevented that. "Sure, we'll do it," Harry said, while his best friend rolled his eyes and rubbed at the place on his side where Harry's elbow had been forced into him.

After the tables had been placed and set, the rest of the Weasleys came out for the meal. It was the first time that Harry had seen Fred, George, and Percy since he'd arrived, because Percy was apparently working day and night on his cauldron bottom regulations and the twins were busy with a mail-order joke shop of the sorts – something that their mother wasn't too pleased about, to say the least, especially when both of them had received only three O.W.L.s each.

Harry, who hadn't really had a good meal since Hogwarts (the lunch that Mrs. Weasley had made him earlier notwithstanding), eagerly dug into the Weasley matriarch's excellent cooking. While he did so, he listened in on the conversations that were going on around the table – Ron and Hermione were talking about homework (or, perhaps more accurately put, she was admonishing him for not doing his homework again and Ron was busy defending himself), the twins and Charlie were talking about the Quidditch World Cup, and Mr. Weasley and Percy were talking about their work while Mrs. Weasley was berating Bill for his fang earring.

At first, the conversation that Mr. Weasley and Percy were having did not seem exciting in the slightest, so Harry focused more on the twins and Charlie and how Charlie wished Peru had won the semi-finals instead of Ireland – he was apparently quite the fan of them. But then, Percy suddenly said rather loudly, "You realize, Father, that Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? She went on holiday to Albania and never came back!"

No one else really reacted to his words, but Harry found himself peeking up at the mention of someone going missing. He turned to ask Ron and Hermione about it, but they were still arguing rather viciously, so instead he turned to Ginny. "Who's Bertha Jorkins?" he asked under his breath.

Ginny blinked. "She's an employee for the Department of Magical Games and Sports," she answered in the same low tone that he did, while her cheeks began to flush rather noticeably. "She went to Albania a few months ago and never came back. No one's seen or heard from her since, either. Not even the locals. It hasn't gotten much attention, though, due to the Cup."

Harry frowned. An employee for – presumably – one of the Ministry departments overseeing the Quidditch World Cup went missing and people didn't pay attention to it? That was odd. Very odd. Although Harry supposed that the lack of attention wasn't that much different to the similar lack of attention of injuries and deaths that happened during muggle events, unless they were caused by the IRA or some other form of terrorists.

"You know, we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Father," Percy continued, oblivious to the conversation that had taken place between Harry and Ginny at the other end of the table, "Without trying to find members of other departments, too. Especially because of the big event that is going to take place right after the World Cup."

Percy suddenly cleared his throat significantly and looked at Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. " _You_ know the one that I'm talking about Father," he said, his voice even louder this time. "The top-secret one."

Mrs. Weasley, who had stopped berating Bill and had instead started berating Charlie, huffed in response to Percy's words. "Percy, dear," she said. "Just because you know what the event is about doesn't mean you have to tease your siblings about it."

Percy flushed. "Yes, Mother," he replied, sounding more embarrassed about being caught than actually regretful about his 'teasing' in the first place.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Serves him right," he muttered to Harry. "He's been trying to get us to ask for weeks now, even though this 'big event' is probably just an exhibition for thick-bottomed cauldrons."

Harry snickered in response.

After they had finished dinner and the dessert of homemade strawberry ice cream that followed it, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all helped Mrs. Weasley in clearing the table. Then, the four of them hung out in the living room for the rest of the night, along with Bill and Charlie, who regaled them with stories about their jobs as they all played several rounds of Exploding Snap. Eventually, though, at around eight, Mrs. Weasley shoo'ed the four of them upstairs, citing the fact that they would have to wake up extra early tomorrow in order to get to the Quidditch World Cup on time.

As Harry looked up at the ceiling from his cot right next to Ron's bed that night, listening to his best friend's snoring, his last thoughts before sleep were two-fold: once again, he thought about the strange, magnetic shocks that had happened between him and Hermione and Ginny and the sudden attractions about them that followed. And, he thought about the guilt that he was feeling for not telling Ron or Hermione about his magic, the dreams, and now the attraction, because now he didn't really have an excuse _not_ to tell them. But, for some reason, he still wouldn't tell them. Couldn't, even.

He only hoped that they could forgive him for it sometime in the future, when they inevitably found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Stoatshead Hill


	6. Chapter 5: Stoatshead Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Something I forgot to mention on Tuesday's update – we are now at 6k views on FFN and 2k views on AO3! And this story also now has 130 followers on FFN, which is something I am thankful for beyond belief. Really. You guys are awesome. ;)
> 
> Next update will be on Tuesday, as per schedule, so I will see you all then! Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Thursday, 18 August 1994  
_ ** **_The Burrow, Devon, England, Great Britain_ **

**Harry didn't remember what time it was when he had closed his eyes and fallen asleep, but he did know as soon as he woke up the next morning that he had drifted off _very_ late in the night, because his stomach churned in protest at him being awake so soon.** "Urgh," he groaned at the feeling, causing Mrs. Weasley, who was gently shaking his shoulder in order to wake him up, to chuckle softly.

"It's time to get up, Harry, dear," she told him quietly. "Are you awake?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," he replied groggily, before he sat up and grabbed his glasses off of the nightstand right next to his cot. "Uh...what time is it?"

"Oh, it's just after three," the Weasley matriarch replied as she walked over to the other side of the room, where Ron's bed was. The redheaded boy was sleeping soundly, save for a light snore, and blissfully unaware that his mother was about to shake him out of his precious sleep.

"Th – _three_?" Harry asked with wide eyes as he put on his glasses. He couldn't believe how early it was, although perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised, what with how it was still dark outside and there was no indication that the sun was going to come up any time soon.

"Yes, dear. You're going by portkey to the Cup, which leaves at five and is quite a bit of a ways' away. But before you leave, you have to eat breakfast, of course!" She stopped speaking for a moment as she gently shook Ron's shoulder in almost the exact same way that she had shook his, before she said softly, "Ron, dear, it's time to get up. Breakfast is ready."

"Br – breakfast?" Ron yawned as he shifted underneath his covers. "'S that time already?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Yes, dear. Now, get up and get dressed. If you're not downstairs in five minutes I'll be back up again."

And with that, she walked out of the room and back down the stairs, presumably to the ground floor of the house.

Both Ron and Harry got up relatively quickly after that, knowing better than to incur the former's mother's wrath at such an early hour in the morning. Although, with that being said, his mother's imminent anger did not stop Ron from mumbling, "Merlin, I can't wait until we're of age and can apparate like Bill, Charlie, and Percy can," while they were getting dressed.

Harry nodded in agreement, too tired to speak. But even if he wasn't, his stomach was still churning dangerously, which made him rather unwilling to talk, anyways.

After they got dressed, the two boys grabbed the rucksacks that they were taking with them to the Cup, before they headed downstairs into the kitchen, yawning and stretching all the while. When they finally got into the kitchen – because going down the stairs took an eternity due to how tired they were – the sight of Mrs. Weasley stirring the contents of a large pot at the stove greeted them, along with the sight of Mr. Weasley sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. No one else was in the room.

"Good morning, boys!" Mr. Weasley greeted them excitedly, before he stood up and spread his arms, showing off his clothing. He was wearing a golfing sweater, complete with black dress pants and tennis shoes, which Harry couldn't help but think made him look a lot older than he actually was. "Well, what do you think? We're supposed to go 'incognito', in order to not arouse too much suspicion. Do I look like a muggle, Harry?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Harry said with a tired smile. "You look excellent."

"Where's everyone else?" Ron asked with a yawn as he and Harry moved to sit down at the table.

"Probably getting dressed, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied. "I woke them up just before I woke you two up. If they aren't down here in another minute or two I'll go back upstairs. Now, how many bowls of porridge do you want? One? Two?"

Ron scrunched up his face. "We're having _porridge_ for breakfast?" he asked in a way that honestly took Harry by surprise, because he thought that the only food his best friend didn't like was corned beef. But apparently, he didn't like porridge, either.

"Porridge is good for the early morning stomach, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "It helps settle it. You know that. Now, one bowl or two?"

"One, I 'spose," Ron said with a sigh.

"I just want one, too," Harry said quickly, knowing how the Weasley matriarch was often insistent that he eat more than just one helping.

Mrs. Weasley looked like she wanted to protest at his statement, but the sight of Hermione and Ginny walking into the kitchen, both looking pale and drowsy, made her stop. "Morning, dears!" she greeted them. "Did you sleep well last night?"

Both of the two girls blushed rather brilliantly. "N – no," Ginny stammered out as she sat down, with Hermione quickly following her. "We didn't."

"We were too excited," Hermione said.

Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, and Ron all seemed to accept that as an answer, but for some reason, Harry couldn't. It was almost like he knew that she was lying, but there wasn't any indicator that she was outside of his own belief – especially because it wasn't like Hermione to lie about anything in the first place.

"Here's your breakfast, dears," Mrs. Weasley said as she handed Hermione and Ginny their bowls of porridge, before she looked through the doorway connecting the kitchen to the rest of the ground floor with a frown. "Fred and George should have been down here by now...maybe I should go and check on them..."

"That sounds like a good idea," Mr. Weasley agreed.

After Mrs. Weasley had left the room, Ginny turned to look at her father with an expression that was halfway between tired and annoyed. "Why'd we have to wake up so early again, Dad?" she asked tiredly.

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "Because we've got a bit of a walk ahead of us, remember?" he replied. "The portkey is at Stoatshead Hill, you know."

"But that's so far away!" the youngest Weasley sighed. "Why couldn't they have just placed it closer to us? I mean, the only other family that's taking the portkey is Cedric Diggory's family, right? 'Cause Samantha Fawcett said her family couldn't afford the tickets and Luna and her dad have been at the Cup for a week already."

Harry frowned. While he wasn't familiar with the names Samantha Fawcett and Luna, he was familiar with the name Cedric Diggory, as the boy had been the seeker and captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team the previous year. He was also the one to beat Harry to the snitch in the first game of that year, when Dementors had come onto the pitch and attacked him. "Cedric Diggory lives near here?" he asked.

Mr. Weasley nodded. "The Diggorys are some good friends of ours," he said. "Along with Luna's family, the Lovegoods. Amos Diggory works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry of Magic, and Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood, is the editor of _The Quibbler_."

" _The Quibbler_?" Hermione asked with a frown. "He's the editor of that odd tabloid?"

"I wouldn't call it 'odd'," the Weasley patriarch corrected her with a small, but kind smile. "Maybe 'eccentric', but certainly not 'odd'. The Lovegoods have always been somewhat of an unconventional family, even before Xenophilius's wife died three years ago. But that's alright. Merlin knows the muggles probably view us as unconventional, too."

At the mention of the man's wife dying, Hermione's cheeks tinged pink and she looked down at her porridge, obviously a little ashamed at having called his tabloid "odd" so quickly. But, her shame only lasted for a moment, because a few seconds later Fred and George suddenly appeared in their doorway, their faces pale and their eyes wide, while their mother was right behind them, saying, "Oh, I just can't believe you two!"

"But we didn't do anything!" Fred protested. "Really!"

Mrs. Weasley huffed. "Then why did I find all of these – these _things_ in your rucksacks instead of important things like clothes?" she asked as she put what looked to be various candies, fake wands, and small, magical devices on the table. At the sight of them, the twins paled even further, but their mother paid that detail no mind as she said, "I don't know what you two were thinking! Not only did you not destroy all of this stuff like your father and I told you to do, but you honestly thought you could bring these things with you to the Cup? Do you have any idea how _stupid_ that would've been?"

George opened his mouth to answer her, but a quick elbow to the ribs from Fred made him close it.

"All it takes," Mrs. Weasley said as she glared at them, "Is one person to get you two in serious trouble! One person who decides, after being on the receiving end of one of your pranks, to contact one of the dozens of Ministry officials that will be overseeing the event! And do you know what would happen then?"

She paused, as if waiting for an answer. But when none came, she let out another huff and said, "Well, I'll tell you! You'd get an official warning – and those aren't things that just magically vanish once you come of age and graduate Hogwarts, like detentions and warnings for the use of magic outside of school do!"

With a sigh and a shake of her head, Mrs. Weasley walked to the stove, where she scooped up the last of the porridge into two bowls meant for the twins. Both of them took their bowls silently, their faces now red and their eyes downcast, and they ate in silence. In fact, everyone – with the exception of Mr. Weasley, who had already finished eating and had gotten up to talk with his wife outside of the room – ate in silence after that, making the rest of breakfast rather subdued and melancholic.

After they finished their meal, it was time for them to go. Mrs. Weasley hugged each and every single of them as she told them all to be safe and "to not get into any trouble", which was obviously directed at the twins for the most part. She also told them that she would send Bill, Charlie, and Percy to the Cup around midday for lunch.

Outside, it was chilly and the moon was still shining rather brilliantly in the sky, with the only indicator of the sun in sight being a dark green tinge along the horizon to their right. Harry, who had still been unable to shake the feeling that Hermione had lied about the reason she and Ginny had been unable to sleep last night, moved to walk over to them, as the two girls were walking together and talking quietly.

When he got close enough to listen to what they were talking about, though, he couldn't help but stop trying to get any closer as dread began to pool in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you sure the markings he had in our dream are those – what did you call them again? Lichtenberk figures?" Ginny asked Hermione worriedly.

" _Lichtenberg_ figures," Hermione corrected her. "And yes, I'm sure. My parents got me a science book for my one of my birthdays when I was younger and the book had a whole excerpt on them. They're caused by electric discharges – and not the small kind like we experienced with him yesterday, either. More like on a lightning-type scale."

"Lightning?" Ginny whispered. "Do you mean you think _Harry was struck by lightning_?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't think so," she said. "I mean, he doesn't have the marks on him, does he? It was only in our dream – our shared, mutual dream. Have you ever heard of that happening before?"

"No," Ginny admitted softly. "I haven't. Well, except for the one time Luna said something about how dream sharing is a sign of ancient whifflelumps interfering with fate and all that, but, well...this is Luna we're talking about, here. She's a good friend, don't get me wrong, but whifflelumps are just a small example of the host of magical creatures she and her father have come up with."

Harry stopped in his tracks, his mind spinning. How could Hermione and Ginny, strange mutual dream or not, know about the marks on his body when no one could see them? When he hadn't told anyone about them? How?

"Harry," Ron suddenly said, which was good, because it prevented him from having something akin to a panic attack then and there. "You alright?"

"Fine," Harry lied. "Just...had to catch my breath for a moment, that's all."

Ron gave him a disbelieving look, but didn't say anything, and for that, Harry was grateful, because he didn't know what he would've said or done if his male best friend had pressed the issue.

They trudged down the rest of the dark, dank lane that connected the Burrow to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole in a silence that was only broken by their footsteps and the hushed, indistinct whispers of Hermione and Ginny. While they walked, the sky began to lighten, allowing a large, dark shadow in the distance that Harry assumed to be Stoatshead Hill to be revealed. He stared at it with some apprehension as they walked down the lane and through the village, because even from their distance it looked to be both very imposing and steep.

After a few more minutes, they reached the bottom of Stoatshead Hill and began to climb it. The hill was just as steep as he thought it might've been, which made breathing actually rather difficult, especially when it was combined with the occasional hidden rabbit hole here and there and the thick, black tufts of overgrown grass. They all made it up the hill, though, with both Mr. Weasley and Hermione coming in last with pale faces and a hand clutched to their sides.

"Whew!" Mr. Weasley panted. "I don't remember the hill being that steep. Ah, well. Comes with being older, I suppose. Now, where is that portkey...?"

He trailed off, because in that moment two figures appeared on the other side of the hill. "Over here, Arthur!" one of the figures shouted as he waved his arms. "Come on! We've got the portkey!"

Mr. Weasley smiled. "Amos!" he shouted as he strode over to the other man, with the rest of them trailing behind. "Is that you?"

"Indeed, it is! Or should I say 'I am'?" Amos Diggory – who was a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard – replied, before he gave a hearty laugh. "Oh, how are you, old chap? It's been a while!"

"It has," Mr. Weasley agreed. "Both Molly and I are fine. How about you? Is Darlene well?"

Amos sighed. "Oh, well as can be, I suppose," he said. "You know how chronic dragon pox is. Some days she's good, some days she's not. At least we can still spend time with her, right, Cedric?"

Next to him, Cedric nodded with a somber face. Mr. Weasley turned to him with a small smile. "Hello, Cedric," he said. "How has your summer been?"

Cedric's face lightened up slightly. "It's been going fine, Mr. Weasley, thank you," he said. "I've mostly been studying and practicing Quidditch. I'm still captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, you see."

"Not that he needs any Quidditch practice," Amos said before Mr. Weasley could reply, "Having beaten Harry Potter in the first Quidditch match of last year and all that!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Obviously, due to the darkness, the older wizard had not realized he was there yet, but it was only a matter of time – especially when Mr. Diggory looked at him and Hermione with appraising eyes. "Are these some of your sons' friends?" he asked Mr. Weasley curiously. "I mean, I know Camelon only has the one son and Molly's family only amounts to the one cousin now...excluding her father, of course."

Mr. Weasley didn't instantly reply, instead choosing to glance over at Harry nervously, as if he was assessing the situation. Cedric, who had been looking at the Weasley patriarch with something akin to apprehension, apparently decided that that was the time for him to intervene. "They're Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, Dad," he said. "Remember? I told you that they were both good friends of Ron and Harry Potter."

Mr. Diggory blinked. "Yes, I suppose you did," he said. "Although, I thought Augusta's grandson was a bit plumper than that..."

Hermione huffed, causing the wizard to pause. He stared at her for a moment, but was soon preoccupied with the moldy, old-looking boot in his hands – which Harry only now noticed – as it began to vibrate, much like how the rubber duck portkey that Mr. Weasley had procured had the previous day. _That must be the portkey,_ Harry thought.

"Oh, dear me, it's almost time to go!" Mr. Diggory proclaimed. "Come around, children! You just need to touch the portkey, that's all, only a finger will do – "

As Harry moved with the others so that they were all standing around the portkey, he couldn't help but stare at Cedric curiously, because the other boy had _lied_ to his own father in order to spare Harry (or, more likely, himself, now that he got to thinking about it – not that his reasons really mattered) the ensuing awkwardness, after all. And although that could simply be chalked up to Cedric being a Hufflepuff, since Hufflepuffs were known for their kindness and all that, Harry couldn't help but feel a little glad and think that Cedric might be a good friend to have, regardless of his reasons for potential animosity.

Before he could get any farther into such thinking, though, the moldy old boot moved, just like Mr. Weasley's rubber duck had. In the next instant, all seven of them were pulled along with it, and Harry felt that sharp tug from behind his navel again. Except this time, he didn't scream, nor did he pass out from the dizziness that he felt, which was good, because a few minutes later the portkey stopped, and his feet slammed into the ground with almost enough impact to make him fall to the ground. Almost being the key word here, because unlike Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins, he was able to keep himself upright along with Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric.

From behind them, a voice suddenly said, "Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Setting Up Camp


	7. Chapter 6: Setting Up Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Sorry for the late update today – I was very busy this weekend and my writing schedule got completely thrown off course because of it, but I'm sure you all understand :)
> 
> This story is now up to 95 favorites, 156 followers, and 8k views on FFN, while on AO3 this story has 33 kudos(es?), 14 bookmarks, and 2.5k views! I know you guys are probably getting sick of me counting all of these things up, but I'm just in utter amazement still and want to show all of you that lol! That, and I think it'd be pretty cool to come back to this story once it's finished and see its progression, so sue me ;)
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on Thursday, as promised. Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis
> 
> Edit: It was pointed out to me by a certain reviewer that my French in this chapter is not...befitting of native French speakers. So, with their help, I corrected the French to something more suitable. If any of you see mistakes with my French again in the future, feel free to correct me and I will edit those chapters as well!

**_Thursday, 18 August 1994  
_ ** **_Dartmoor, Devon, England, Great Britain_ **

**Harry, Mr. Weasley, Amos Diggory, and Cedric all turned around to look at where the voice was coming from, while the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione all got to their feet.** The owner of the voice was one of two tired and grumpy-looking wizards, and they were seemingly the only ones other than Harry and the rest of his group around in the deserted, misty moor.

"Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley greeted the wizard standing to the left, who was wearing a kilt and a poncho and was holding a thick roll of parchment and a quill in his hands.

"Hello there, Arthur," Basil said wearily as he took the moldy old boot from Mr. Weasley and threw it into a box of used Portkeys right beside him. "Not on duty, eh? You're lucky. We've been here all night, unfortunately, and the same goes for pretty much everyone else who was called to duty today. Oh, you might want to get out of the way...we've got a big party coming in from the veela colony in France in a few minutes now..."

Mr. Weasley suddenly paled. "V – veela, did you say?" he asked rather nervously.

Basil nodded, before he turned to look at Harry, Cedric, and the three Weasley boys with slightly narrowed eyes. "You all look rather young, so I doubt you've had any experience with veela before. You should probably shield your eyes as I find your campsites," he announced rather grumpily.

Cedric flushed rather spectacularly and did what he was told, while Ron and the twins all snickered before reluctantly doing the same. Confused, Harry turned to look at Hermione and saw that she was blushing with the same ferocity that Cedric did, while next to her, Ginny was grinning with pure amusement. "Uh...Hermione?" Harry asked. "Why do I have to shield my eyes?"

Hermione looked at him with an irritated expression. "Because of the allure, Harry," she stated. "Don't you remember? Lupin spent a day covering the different seductive magical creatures with us last year!"

Harry did not, in fact, remember. Oh, he remembered Lupin mentioning something about seductive magical creatures, all right – he remembered the brilliant blush that appeared on Hermione's face and the grins and snickers that broke out among the boys, regardless of their Houses...but he didn't remember the class itself. Figuring that he had just been absent from class that day or something like that, he quickly followed Cedric and the Weasley boys in shielding his eyes, although he couldn't help but keep a crack in between his fingers open...

"Well, Arthur," Basil said as he consulted his parchment list, obviously looking for the spots that Mr. Weasley had gotten. "You're about a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. As for you, Amos – "

Basil didn't get to finish his sentence, because at that moment a _pop!_ was heard, and around twenty people appeared in a circle that seemed to be formed around a small comb of the sorts. All of them, except for one older man who had greying blonde hair, were tall, beautiful women (and girls, in the case of one or two of them), with silvery blonde hair, pale skin, and light blue robes that looked to be too thin for the weather. At their appearance, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, Basil, and the wizard standing next to him all stiffened, and a distinctive, light _blush_ appeared on the cheeks of both Basil and the wizard standing next to him.

"Hello," Basil greeted the witches, except this greeting was much more enthusiastic than his previous one was.

Unfortunately for him, all of the witches – the veela – looked more than a little nonplussed at his greeting. Still, one of them stepped forward. She looked to be around forty or so, and two of the girls were rather close to her side, with one looking to be around seventeen and the other around twelve. The seventeen-year-old was staring ahead, looking quite uninterested at everything that was going on, but her sister was looking around curiously with wide, innocuous blue eyes.

"Hello," the girls' mother said, her voice as stiff as the men's backs. "Is this where we find our...campsites?"

"Yes, yes," Basil said exuberantly. "What's the name?"

"Delacour," the woman replied coolly.

As Basil began to look for her campsite, the woman's twelve-year-old daughter caught sight of Harry. At first, her already-wide eyes widened when further, then a large smile formed on her face as she nudged her sister's arm quite impatiently, causing her sister to look up with a disgruntled look on her faces "Quoi?" the older sister asked.

"Regarde!" the younger sister exclaimed quietly, but not quietly enough as she pointed at Harry. "C'est Harry Potter!"

The older sister turned to look at him, as did most of the other women in their group. She appraised him for a moment, her face carefully blank, before she rolled her eyes and told her sister, "Non, ce n'est pas lui."

"C'est lui!"

"Non!"

"Fleur, Gabrielle, qu'est-ce que vous dites?" their mother asked as she turned to look at them, a frown on her face.

Harry, who had been listening to the conversation but didn't really understand what was going on, found the conversation to be rather funny. But Hermione didn't. As the girls spoke in rapid French, her eyes widened, and she hurriedly grabbed Harry by the arm, causing an electric discharge to shock both of them, and said "Mr. Weas – _oh!_ Mr. Weasley, can we go now?"

Mr. Weasley, who, along with Mr. Diggory, had been helping Basil and Basil's partner due to their effects from the veela allure, looked up with wide and befuddled eyes. When Hermione saw that he was looking at her, she subtly gestured her head towards the Delacour sisters named Fleur and Gabrielle, who were both still looking at Harry – albeit the older sister was looking at him with irritation, while the younger one was looking at him with pure glee.

As soon as he noticed the girls' staring, Mr. Weasley's face paled, before he turned to look at Mr. Diggory with a rather determined expression on his face. "Amos," he said firmly, but also kindly. "Can you take it from here? My children and their friends are rather anxious to get going."

Mr. Diggory spared Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and the Weasley boys – who were all still covering their eyes – a rather quick glance. "Of course, Arthur," he said. "Four young boys around a flock of veela is four boys too many. We'll be fine here. Perhaps Cedric and I will see you lot later?"

Mr. Weasley gave the other man a faint smile. "Perhaps," he said. "Goodbye, Amos, Basil."

"Goodbye, Arthur."

"Yes, goodbye, Arthur," Basil repeated rather dreamily.

Mr. Weasley walked over to where Harry and the rest of their group were standing. "All right," he said. "Come on. You can uncover your eyes now, boys. Just don't look behind us – unless you want me dragging you to the campsite, that is."

With that being said, the seven of them set off across the deserted, misty moor. None of them were able to make out much of anything due to the mist, but after about twenty minutes' worth of walking they were able to find their campsite, which was guarded by a large gate and a small, stone cottage.

What followed next could only be described as, in Harry's opinion, a rather morbid but nevertheless comedic situation, because the man in charge of the campsite, who was named Mr. Roberts, was undoubtedly the only muggle man for several acres. He was also a man who had been Obliviated one too many times, if the way how his eyes were glassy and the way that he spoke was any indicator, which made Mr. Weasley's attempt to pay him with muggle money – with some help from Harry, of course – all that much harder.

In fact, towards the end of their conversation, Mr. Roberts stopped really having a conversation with Mr. Weasley at all, causing another wizard to appear and promptly _Obliviate_ him again. The wizard accompanied them to the gates, while he told Mr. Weasley about how often he had to charm the muggle man's memory and about how Ludo Bagman was only making it worse. At his words, Hermione looked rather sick, as her face paled and her eyes widened, as if she couldn't believe that someone would place that many Memory Charms on _anyone_ , let alone a muggle man.

After the other wizard had disapparated and left them at the gate, they all walked through it and up the misty field between long rows of tents, which stretched all the way to the forest several kilometers away. As they walked, Harry couldn't help but look at all of the tents surrounding them, because while most of them looked _almost_ ordinary, that couldn't be said for all of them. For instance, there was one extravagant tent that was made of silk and had several live, albino peacocks tethered at the entrance, while another tent had three floors and several turrets. And another tent had a whole front garden attached to it, complete with a birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

At the sight of all of these tents, Mr. Weasley chuckled and smiled. "Always the same," he said. "We just can't resist showing off when we get into groups as large as these. Ah, well. It is what it is. Oh, look! This is us!"

They had come to a stop at the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, where there were still a small handful of empty spaces – one of which had a small sign hammered into the ground that said _WEEZLY_.

"Oh, this is the perfect spot!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed happily, which caused both of the twins to snort and made Ron look at Harry with a bemused expression on his face. "Oh, don't be upset, children. The Quidditch pitch is just on the other side of the wood here, so we're as close as we could be! Now," he said as he shrugged his backpack off of his shoulders, "We're not supposed to do magic, strictly speaking, so we'll be putting these tents up by hand! It shouldn't be too difficult...in fact, we should have them up in no time..."

...That wasn't _quite_ true, though. Because although Mr. Weasley had good intentions, both he and all four of his children proved to be completely hopeless when it came to putting up tents the "muggle way". This meant that Harry and Hermione had to put up the tents all by themselves, and since neither had ever gone camping before, it took them a while to do. Eventually, though, they were able to put up the two shabby-looking two-man tents, which were, in Harry's opinion, both the most innocuous-looking tents there and way too small for their party of ten.

"Err...Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked tentatively as he and Hermione shared a befuddled look.

"Yes, Harry?" Mr. Weasley replied as he dropped to his hands and knees and and entered the first tent.

Harry was about to ask the man about how ten of them were supposed to fit into the two tents, before he thought better of it and closed his mouth. After all, he thought idly as Mr. Weasley said something about wanting them all to come inside and see the tent, if magic could do so many wondrous things like charming teapots and transfiguring needles, why couldn't it also charm a space to be much bigger than it actually was?

Sure enough, as Harry followed after Mr. Weasley, he found himself being proven right, because the inside of the first tent was _much_ bigger than it was supposed to be. In fact, it was big enough to be a three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen! At the sight of it, Harry couldn't help but grin and murmur to himself "I love magic!" just before Ron pushed him fully into the tent so that he and the others could get in as well.

"Well, it's not for long," Mr. Weasley said, oblivious to how Harry and Hermione, at least, were looking around the tent with wide eyes and open mouths. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. He's got lumbago, so he doesn't really like to camp anymore...or travel at all, really..." He paused in order to inspect a rather dusty kettle that was sitting on the stove. "Well, we'll need water..." he said, only to trail off again.

"According to the map that the muggle gave us, there's a tap on the other side of the field," Ron interjected. "Harry, Hermione, and I could go get some water there, Dad."

Mr. Weasley grinned in response. "What a splendid idea!" he said. "Bring your sister along with you, too, Ron. The rest of us will gather firewood for lunch in the mean time."

Upon hearing that his sister was going to come with them, Ron scrunched up his face in clear disapproval. Still, he didn't argue, which Harry was grateful for...even if he was more grateful about the prospect of spending more time with Ginny than anything else.

After gathering up the various kettles and saucepans in the tent, along with the various kettles and saucepans in the other tent (which would serve as the girls' tent), Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set off across the campsite. None of them really spoke, as they were too busy staring at the many other witches and wizards all around them – as it was one thing to know how many wizards there were in the world, but another to actually see so _many_ of them in one place. For instance, not too far from their tents was a group of three African wizards roasting what looked to be a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while another group consisting of several witches with distinct American accents were gossiping underneath a banner that declared they were from The Salem Witch Institute in the United States. And there was yet another group of witches that almost looked like they were relatives of the two veela sisters that Harry had seen that day – which Hermione and Ginny led him and Ron away from after a shared, nervous glance.

Finally, though, when they were about halfway through the field, Harry recognized some people from Hogwarts, although he couldn't really remember their names. This was also the point where most of the tents became rather... _green_ , as all of the tents were covered in shamrocks and other verdant things that made it clear everyone here was supporting the team Ireland.

As they were walking through this strange, miniature world, a familiar voice from behind them shouted out, "Harry! Ron! Hermione! Ginny!"

They all turned to look at where the voice was coming from, revealing that its owner was none other than Seamus Finnegan, one of Harry and Ron's dorm mates at Hogwarts. He was waving his arms at them from a tent a little bit of a ways away, where Dean Thomas, one of their other dorm mates, and two sandy-haired women were sitting. One of the women looked to be in her mid-thirties, while the other looked much younger, to the point where Harry thought that she was only around a year older than Seamus or so. Upon that conclusion, he then recognized her as Seamus's older half-sister and the best friend of Katie Bell, but he couldn't quite remember her name.

 _What was it?_ he thought as a blush rose to his cheeks – the girl was very pretty, after all, what with her sandy hair, high cheekbones, and startlingly grey eyes. _Leanne? No, that's not it. It's similar to it, though...at least, it looks similar...is it Léan? Yes! That's it! Léan._

"Hello, Seamus," Hermione greeted the other boy from where she was standing right next to Harry. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Seamus replied with a grin. "Have you met me mam yet? I don't think any of you have. Mam, this is Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and – "

"Oh, I know who _he_ is," Mrs. Finnegan interjected before her son could finish his sentence, which Harry was quite grateful for. Or, at least, he was, until she added: "You and Léan talk about him quite enough, dear, that I could recognize him from a mile away, even if it wasn't for the fact that he's a spitting image of his father."

At her words, both of her children flushed and protested, while Dean snickered and Harry shifted uncomfortably, but also curiously. "Did you know my father?" he couldn't help but ask the older woman.

Mrs. Finnegan looked at him appraisingly. "That I did," she finally said after a moment, and it was then that Harry suddenly realized her accent was distinctively a Devon accent, and not Irish like both of her children's accents were. "I also knew your mother, too. We were good friends, you know. Dorm mates, too."

"Really?" Harry asked as he quickly became more and more curious, because he had never heard of her before. Granted, she obviously wasn't married when she and his parents were at Hogwarts, but still...all of the information he knew about his parents was mostly information about his father and his friends, not his mother and her friends.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Finnegan said, but before she could say anything else, a Ministry official suddenly appeared, yelling about how the green tents were too blatantly obvious for the muggles.

Not wanting to be caught in the crossfire between the Ministry official and the Irish witches and wizards, who already looked rather angry at his words, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all quickly fled the scene in favor of continuing their walk to the tap. As they walked, though, Harry couldn't help but spare one last glance at both Mrs. Finnegan and Léan, wondering just who Mrs. Finnegan really was and why he found Léan just as pretty as Hermione, Ginny, Daphne Greengrass, and Susan Bones...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Morsmordre (yes, I am skipping the Cup because I realized not enough would be changed from canon in order to justify writing it. I think you will all like next chapter, though...you'll see why! ;) )


	8. Chapter 7: Morsmordre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you all had a wonderful past two days, because I didn't lol. I wound up witnessing a car wreck yesterday, which threw my writing plans off-kilter (...again -_-) – but hey, at least nobody except the driver sustained injuries, right? 'Cause it really could've been a lot worse in that retrospect.
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on Tuesday, as always. So, I will see you all then! Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Thursday, 18 August 1994  
_ ** **_Dartmoor, Devon, England, Great Britain_ **

...Later that night, Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys (excluding Mrs. Weasley, of course) were enjoying some late-night celebrations in the main tent. They had just come back from the Quidditch World Cup, which Ireland had won, even after Bulgaria's Seeker, the stony-faced Viktor Krum, had caught the snitch. Both Fred and George were elated about this, as earlier that day they had bet Ludo Batman on just that happening when the rosy-faced man and Barty Crouch had come to their campsite for a brief chat. Mr. Weasley, though, wasn't, as evidenced by the way that he muttered under his breath, "Oh, how am I going to tell Molly about this?"

At his words, Fred and George, who had been sitting in the kitchen of the tent while the others partied in the main room, looked up and gave their father identical grins. "Don't worry, Dad," Fred said gleefully. "We'll use our money responsibly. You don't have to tell Mum anything."

Mr. Weasley only paled and let out a long sigh in response.

Harry didn't pay attention to the twins or their father for long, though, as he was more interested in the antics that Ron was pulling off as he dramatically retold the events of the Cup – or that was his lie, anyways. Because he was actually more interested in Hermione and Ginny's reactions to his best friend's antics. Both of them were smiling, laughing, and rolling their eyes at Ron, and both of them looked _beautiful_ while doing it. In fact, they looked so beautiful that Harry could scarcely believe that it had only been yesterday when he noticed their beauty, even if the thought nearly sent him into a full-blown panic attack again as he remembered everything that came with his sudden attraction to them.

Suddenly, as Ron was in the middle of re-enacting Viktor Krum's Wronski Feint, Bill, who had been sitting on one of the couches and chatting with Charlie and Percy about both the game and their respective careers, sat up with a frown. "Did you hear that?" he asked all of them.

"Hear what? The sound of the Irish celebrating?" Charlie asked in response.

Bill shook his head. "No, not that..." he said, before trailing off, as if waiting for whatever it was that he heard to happen again.

A moment later, a loud, shrill scream pierced through the air.

" _That_ ," Bill said grimly, before he got to his feet and took out his wand. "I'm going to go see what's going on."

"Bill – " Mr. Weasley protested.

But Bill was already gone.

A few moments after Bill left, the noises in the campsite suddenly changed. The celebratory singing, cheering, and hollering that had been going on (courtesy of not just the Irish, but of everyone who had been supporting their team) suddenly stopped, only to be replaced by the sounds of more screaming and of people running.

Charlie, who had been closest to the tent flap, opened it up and peered outside, only to suddenly look back into the tent with a pale face and wide eyes. "Dad," he said. "We've got to get out of here. _Now_."

Mr. Weasley didn't need anymore prompting. With a tone that was both urgent and firm, he said, "Alright, you lot. Grab a jacket and get outside. Now!"

Harry did as he was told and hurried out of the tent, with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny at his heels.

Outside, it was dark out, with only the light of a few dim fires lighting up the night. Still, the light was bright enough that Harry was able to make out several people running into the woods, all of them fleeing something that was slowly, but surely moving across the field towards them.

No, not something, Harry realized as he was able to make out what was moving towards them. _Someones_ – as in a group of tightly-packed wizards, who were moving together with their wands pointed upwards, and casting different spells that lit up the night with misty green light and caused sounds like gunfire to shoot through the air. None of the wizards had discernible features, as they were all wearing black, hooded cloaks and silvery masks, making them look comparable to a terrorist group from the United States that he had seen on TV once, for the brief moment that he was able to watch it.

None of that was as terrifying, though, as the fact that high above these figures, floating in midair, were the bodies of Mr. Roberts and presumably his wife and two children, all being contorted into grotesque and nausea-inducing shapes. At first, Harry thought that the muggles were all dead, but when he realized that they were still _actively struggling_ against the spells that were making them move like that, he promptly threw up his dinner onto a grassy part of the ground.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I'm fine," Harry lied. "Really."

Mr. Weasley, Charlie, and Percy were the last ones to come out of the tent, and all of them had their sleeves rolled up and wands out, along with expressions of pure determination on their faces. "We're going to help the Ministry and find Bill!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "You lot – " here, he gestured to Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and the twins " – get into the woods, and _stick together_. I'll come fetch you when all of this is over!"

Charlie and Percy were already sprinting towards the oncoming marchers, causing Mr. Weasley to have to tear after them. Ministry officials and more hooded wizards alike were dashing towards the crowd from every direction, too, looking as if they were determined to stop and further the troubles, respectively.

The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.

"Come on!" Fred shouted, before he grabbed Ginny's hand and started to pull her towards the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George all followed after them. None of them stopped to look back, not once...at least, not until they got to the trees, because then the temptation was too hard to resist. But all that they saw was that the crowd beneath the muggle family was larger than ever and, what was worse, was that the Ministry officials seemed to not know what to do, as they either had to let the wizards go or let the family fall.

Once they got into the woods, it was hard to make anything out. Dark figures passed by all of them, while the sounds of children crying and people shouting could be heard. Harry felt himself being pushed this way and that by people whose faces he could not see, and although he tried to stop them, they kept on coming, like an unrelenting tidal wave. And because of them, the voices of Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and the twins soon became fainter and fainter, meaning that he was getting separated from them.

"No!" Harry shouted as he tried and failed to get out of the crowd. "Please, let me go! I have to get back to my friends! I have to – _oof_!"

He fell to the forest floor with a grimace, having just tripped over a tree root. A horrible pain erupted from the ankle of the foot that he had tripped over the root with, and he instinctively knew that that meant he had either broken it or sprained it...and with the way things were currently, neither of those options were good.

After getting into a sitting position, Harry gingerly reached down to his ankle and felt it, making sure not to squeeze too tightly – or to even touch it that hard at all, really. He noted, with a sigh of relief, that everything still seemed to be in its proper place, meaning that nothing had been broken and that he could probably walk on his foot, even if it would hurt like hell due to the sprain.

Just as he was about to try to get up, though, a familiar voice said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Harry looked up, startled. There, standing before him, was the owner of the dreamy and wistful voice that had been in the dream on his birthday a few weeks prior. He vaguely recognized her as a girl in the year below him at Hogwarts, but he knew that she wasn't a Gryffindor, so he had a hard time placing her face, much less her name. Still, she was a rather pretty girl, with a straggly shock of white-blonde hair, wide grey eyes, and skin that was as pale as Ginny's, just without all of the freckles. She was also wearing a pale blue summer's dress, gold radish earrings, and what looked to be a necklace made from butterbeer caps. Her feet were noticeably barefoot.

"I – wouldn't do what?" Harry asked nervously as he looked at her, unable to stop himself from admiring her waif-like beauty.

"Stand up," she replied matter-of-factly. "Your ankle is quite sprained, you see, and it will be a few minutes yet until your magic has healed you."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "'Un – until my magic has healed me'?" he quoted. "What do you mean?"

"Your magic is healing you, can't you see?" the girl said as she sat down and tenderly rolled up his pants leg and rolled down his sock, revealing that the silvery scars on Harry's ankle were now glowing a faint golden-green.

"I – I don't understand," Harry spluttered. "How – how can you see my scars? No one else can!"

"The whimplies let me see things," she said with a soft smile, "like your scars, and the fact that you have been touched by the god Mabon, the child god."

"Mabon?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "Yes," she said. "Mabon ap Modron is his full name. When he was three nights old, Mabon was stolen from his mother, Modron's arms. He was later found by King Arthur and his men, but not until many years later, by which point Mabon had already been blessed by Don, the mother-goddess, and her husband Beli, the god of death. They made it so that Mabon was like them, and ensured that he would always be happy, because Mabon had never been happy after being taken from his mother."

The girl, whose eyes had become glassy and unfocused as she spoke, suddenly blinked and looked at him again. "You know," she said. "Before my grandmother moved to the Canary Islands, she once told me that my future husband would be touched by the god Mabon, and that he would have many other wives besides me. Mummy always said that she didn't know what she was talking about, but she didn't possess the gift of Sight like Grandmother did, and she couldn't see whimplies like Daddy and I can, so she must've been wrong, because I can see you already have several girls magically betrothed to you, one of which is me."

"B – betrothed?"

"Engaged. Contracted to marry," the girl said. "And since we are so, is it okay if I kiss you? I've always wanted to kiss you, you see."

Before Harry could protest, the girl leaned forward and chastely kissed him. And as soon as her lips locked into his, a shock reverberated through them that was hundreds of times more powerful than the shock that came with Hermione hugging him or Ginny barely touching him. It was so powerful, in fact, that it left the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and made him both taste _and_ smell that golden-green sensation that he had tasted when Hermione had hugged him. And the shock was not just fleeting, either – it pulsated through both of them for several seconds, and when it finally ended, Harry couldn't help but push away from the girl with a gasp.

The girl didn't seem to mind, though. A light blush had appeared on her pale cheeks, and she was touching her lips with her fingertips as she stared at him with her wide eyes. " _Oh_ , that was nice," she finally said after a few moments. "Mummy always told me my first kiss with my one true love would be shocking, but I don't think she meant it would be like that."

Harry stared back at her with wide eyes, too shocked to say or do anything else. This seemed to upset the girl slightly, because she started to pout, but then she blinked and rose to her feet. "Come on, Harry," she said. "We need to find your friends and your wand, before anything else happens tonight."

Harry blinked. Although he wasn't surprised at the fact that she knew who he was – he was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all, and both of them went to Hogwarts – he couldn't remember his wand being taken. Nervously, he patted down his pants' pockets, and couldn't help but gasp in surprise when he discovered that his wand was not there. "How – how did you know?" he asked the girl a moment later.

She just smiled again and said, "The whimplies told me," before she leaned down to give him a hand.

Hesitantly, he took it. The girl gingerly pulled him to his feet, but there was no pain in his ankle when he put weight on it, as he expected there to be. Numbly, Harry looked down at his ankle in surprise, before he turned to look at girl. Her smile widened. "I told you," she said. "Now, come, Harry. Follow me."

The two of them set off into the woods, trying to look for any sign of Ron and Hermione or even the twins and Ginny. Or, at least, Harry was. The girl seemed to be just fine with walking along in such a way that was more than just a little unnerving for him. Finally, after a few moments, Harry couldn't help but ask the one thing that he was itching to know: "Err...you're not going to tell anyone about my – about me being touched by Mabon, are you?"

The girl shook her head. "It's not my place to," she said. "Mabon likes to do things in his own time, so if he hasn't revealed to the entire world yet that you are touched by him, then he doesn't want everyone to know yet...which means that I would be offending a god if I _did_ tell the world about you being touched by him. And I don't want to do that, because the gods aren't exactly nice when they are angry."

Harry simply nodded in response, because he wasn't sure what else he was supposed to do or say. What the girl was saying didn't really make sense to him, but then again, _nothing_ she said so far had.

Suddenly, the two of them came upon a small clearing – and what's more, they weren't alone. Because standing in the clearing were two figures that, even with the darkness, Harry was able to recognize easily enough.

"Ron! Hermione!" he shouted.

His two best friends turned to look at him. "Oh, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "There you are! We thought you'd gotten lost!"

"I did," he admitted with a bashful grin. "But, uh..."

"I found him," the girl said, as if she knew that he didn't know her name and was saving him the embarrassment of admitting it...then again, she had never actually _told_ him her name, had she? "The whimplies led me to him, you see."

Ron frowned. "Luna?" he asked. "Is that you?"

The girl – _Luna Lovegood_ , Harry thought, remembering what Mr. Weasley had said about the girl and her family the previous day – smiled. "Hello, Ron," she replied, before she frowned and looked around, as if looking for someone. "Where is Ginny?"

Ron and Hermione shared a look. "Ginny was with the twins," Ron said after a moment. "We lost them not long after we lost Harry."

"Oh," Luna said simply.

Before their conversation could be continued any further, Hermione suddenly looked at a spot just over Harry's shoulder with wide eyes. Harry, Ron, and Luna quickly turned to see what she was looking at, but none of them could hear or see anything.

"Hello?" Hermione called out, her voice trembling somewhat. "Who's there?"

There was no response.

At first, Harry thought that Hermione hadn't really seen (or heard) anything – that it was just simply a trick of her imagination. But then, something – no, _someone_ – came running into the clearing. The figure, who was tall and dark, waved the wand in his hand at all four of them, while he muttered something that was unintelligible. The thing he muttered, though, had to have been a spell, because in the next moment Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Luna were all thrown off their feet and onto the ground, causing Ron to shout and Hermione and Luna to cry out in shock.

But the figure wasn't done. After he had thrown them to the floor, the figure pointed his wand straight up towards the sky, and in a clear voice, shouted out: " _MORSMORDRE_!"

The effect was instantaneous. From the tip of the man's wand, a vast, glittering, misty green light shot up, flying over the treetops and sky, and illuminating the dark night. The light then turned into a colossal skull, with emerald stars for eyes and a serpent protruding from its mouth like a giant tongue. Shivers went down Harry's spine at the sight, because while he was sure he had never seen it before, it looked... _familiar_ somehow, like it was part of a distant memory that he couldn't really remember.

From all around, shrieks and cries of terror erupted in the wood. They heard the sound of people running this way and that – but the people they couldn't see weren't the only ones that were running. Because as soon as he cast the magic that produced the skull, the figure threw down his wand and ran into the night, without so much as another word or another flourish of magic.

"Wh – what is that? What's going on?" Ron asked as he sat up, and despite the darkness, Harry could see that his best friend's eyes were wide and his face pale.

Hermione sprang to her feet. "We – we have to get out of here!" she exclaimed. "It's the Dark Mark, Ron! It's You-Know-Who's sign! If we don't get out of here, they'll think we – "

Abruptly, she stopped speaking, and her eyes widened. Harry turned to see what she was looking at, thinking that the figure had come back because all of them were witnesses to him casting that spell, but that wasn't the case. Instead, Hermione was looking at Luna, who had gingerly crouched down and picked up the figure's wand...except, it _wasn't_ the figure's wand, Harry realized with a startling clarity.

_It was his own._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: A Ride To Hogwarts
> 
> Ending Notes: So, upon reading some of GoF for reference, I realized that there wasn't going to be much change to canon in the scene immediately following where this chapter leaves off, or of the week between the Cup and September 1st. So, that being said, next chapter will be the chapter before what I called "the calm before the storm" ends, aka where this story really begins. This is one chapter ahead of my original plans, so I hope you all are happy about that. :)
> 
> Once again, I will see you all on Tuesday. Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis


	9. Chapter 8: A Ride To Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Shorter chapter today – I had some difficulties writing this chapter, as it was getting to be a bit too close to canon for my liking, so I had to edit it and cut out some of the too-close details. Hope you all can forgive me for it. :P
> 
> Also, as for your weekly story stats, we are up to 12k views, 100+ favorites, and almost 200 follows on FFN, last time I checked. On AO3, we're up to 3k views, 44 kudi (I am very tired right now and decided that that is the plural form of kudos), and 16 bookmarks. It's really amazing, so thank you so much...again! Ha ha.
> 
> Next chapter (the grand finale of what shall now be dubbed the "beginning arc" of this story) will be up on Thursday, as promised. So, until then,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Thursday, 1 September 1994  
_ ** **_The Burrow, Devon, England, Great Britain_ **

**On the morning of his return to Hogwarts, Harry woke up feeling rather... _odd_.**

It had been two weeks since the Quidditch World Cup, and two weeks since he had almost been arrested after his wand had been temporarily stolen by a dark wizard who used it to create the Dark Mark over the camp field of the Cup, who had then proceeded to vanish into the night without a trace. It had also been two weeks since the strange Luna Lovegood had told him about being "touched by the child god Mabon", as well as him being betrothed to both her and several other girls – something which Harry tried not to think that much about, because while the girl could see his new scars, she was also... _eccentric_ in a way that made him think that she wasn't exactly _sane_.

(That, and he simply didn't want to think about the idea of him being _betrothed_ , because that was way too life-altering and panic-inducing for him to think about.)

Not that there was much time for him to think about such things, because in the two weeks that had followed the Quidditch World Cup, a lot had happened. Both Mr. Weasley and Percy had had to deal with the fallout that had ensued after the Dark Mark had appeared over the Cup, and with apparently some sort of ruckus that had happened at the home of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, a former auror who was well-known for his paranoid behavior. Mrs. Weasley and Ron had also gotten into a fight over his secondhand dress robes, which were one of the supply requirements for this year, while Hermione had gotten particularly annoyed at how her favorite textbook, _A History of Magic_ , had been taken off the school supplies list this year, with the only explanation being that "the new professor would provide them with textbooks"...which, of course, also annoyed her, as Hermione always liked to memorize their new textbooks over the summer.

Perhaps all of that was why Harry woke up feeling so _odd_ that morning, because all of the stress had finally gotten to him. It would explain, at least, why part of the reason why he was feeling so strange was because he felt like he had a migraine, except the migraine was focused in his scar (which still hadn't hurt since his birthday) and trickled its way through the rest of his body, following the scars as if they were some sort of path to follow.

"Urgh," he said at the feeling as he groggily got out of bed.

"Harry, mate, you alright?" Ron asked as he looked at him, already dressed and ready for the day.

"Fine," Harry lied, both because he didn't want to worry his best friend and because he was slowly becoming used to lying about the scars, the dreams, and all of the other things that had been happening to him since his birthday.

Once again, Ron looked like he didn't believe him, but he didn't press the issue as he waited for Harry to get ready so that they could go downstairs together, nor did he press it during breakfast or on their way to London via muggle taxis later that morning. But, then again, their breakfast had been interrupted by Mr. Diggory – who had been equal parts shocked and ashamed upon finding out he had believed Harry to be Neville Longbottom when he, Mr. Weasley, Barty Crouch, and several other Ministry officials had arrived at the clearing where the Dark Mark had been summoned at the Cup two weeks prior – about some sort of attack on the home of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, a famous and paranoid retired auror, and both Bill and Charlie were sitting with them in the taxi, making their usual, more privatized conversations rather difficult.

When they finally got of King's Cross Station in London, it was starting to rain, and the pain in Harry's scar and the rest of his body was steadily becoming worse. He did his best to ignore it, though, as he, Ron, Bill, Charlie, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins were all hurriedly shuffled into the train station by Mrs. Weasley, both because the rain was already coming down rather profusely and because they were cutting it rather close in terms of time, as always.

"Alright, dears," the Weasley matriarch announced in a voice that was barely louder than usual as they hurriedly walked through the station. "We're going in groups today. Ron, Hermione, you two are first, then Ginny and Harry, then Fred and George, then your brothers and I. Remember, no funny business as we're going through! Merlin knows we're already rather conspicuous as it is, what with your trunks and pets."

The part about "funny business" was obviously directed at the twins, and despite the pain that he was in, Harry couldn't help but grin both at it and how they rolled their eyes in response. Ron and Hermione, who both had the pets that Mrs. Weasley was referring to, looked as equally nonplussed as Fred and George did.

A few minutes later, they reached the barrier that separated the Hogwarts Express's platform, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, from the rest of the muggle station. Ron and Hermione hurriedly went through it first with their pets Pigwidgeon the owl and Crookshanks, only to be followed by everyone else in the exact order that Mrs. Weasley had told them to go in, until they were all staring up at the scarlet train that was the Hogwarts Express as it glittered beautifully despite the dreary downpour going on outside.

After they all got through the barrier, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, per Mrs. Weasley's request, set off to find seats. They found an empty compartment about halfway along the train rather easily, and they all stowed their luggage there before they hopped back down onto the platform in order to say their goodbyes to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie.

"Well, it's been fun getting to know you, Harry, Hermione. I just wish that we all had more time to spend together," Charlie told the two non-Weasleys, before he turned to look at his younger siblings with a grin and said, "But, that being said, I think I'll be seeing all of you sooner than you think."

"What?" Ron asked in surprise. "Why?"

"You'll see," Charlie replied with a wink. "Just don't tell Percy that I mentioned it...you know what he'd say, what he'd do."

"Yes, don't tell Percy," Bill added with a wry grin. "He'd be so mad at Charlie...and me, because I won't lie: I sort of wish that I was back at Hogwarts this year."

" _Really_?" Ginny asked with wide eyes.

He nodded. "Yeah, because you're all _most definitely_ going to have an interesting year, that's for sure," he said. "In fact, I might even have to get time off to come and watch a bit of it..."

"A bit of _what_?" Fred asked impatiently.

But before Bill could reply, the train whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley pushes them all toward the train doors. "Have a good ride, dears!" she shouted.

"We will, Mum!" Ron replied as they climbed on board and closed the door behind them, before leaning out the window to talk to her.

"Thank you for everything, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said.

"Yes, thank you," Harry hurriedly added.

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Oh, think nothing of it, dears," she said. "I'd invite you over for Christmas, but with everything that's going on, there's really no point...you'll all want to be staying at Hogwarts. But, enough about that, now. Go on! Get back to your compartments, and stay safe! I'm so glad they changed the rules this year, but still, I worry."

"What do you mean we'll want to be staying at Hogwarts? And what rules are getting changed?" George asked her, but the train was already beginning to move and Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved in response before she, Bill, and Charlie all disapparated before the train had even finished pulling out of the station.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all went back to their compartment, only to find that it had become occupied by two more people in their absence. One of them was Luna Lovegood, who none of them had seen since the Quidditch World Cup, while the other person was Neville Longbottom. Upon their arrival, both of them looked up, and with a small, friendly smile, Neville said, "Hi Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny. How was your summer?"

"It was great, up until the end of the Cup," Hermione replied with a smile. "How about yours?"

"Yeah, Luna was telling me about that," Neville said with a frown. "I'm actually kind of glad now that my gran decided she didn't want us to go...we went to the Canary Islands instead. And I actually met Luna's great-grandmother there! She's a seer and everything!"

"Really?" Ron asked eagerly, while Hermione scrunched up her face at the mention of Divination – she still didn't like it or believe it, even after Harry had witnessed Professor Trelawney give out that prophecy the previous school year. "What'd she say?"

Neville flushed slightly. "She said that she saw a lot of weddings in my future," he said. "As in, me attending weddings, I guess. She also said that I'd need to be there for a friend in the near future because they'd be in need...so if any of you guys ever need anything, I'm there!"

Ginny chuckled at his antics, while Hermione gave a small smile and a large grin spread across Ron's face. Harry didn't smile or laugh, though, as at Neville's words his heart began to quicken, and he nervously turned to look at Luna, who was been reading an edition of _The Quibbler_ upside down. A moment later, though, she put down the magazine and looked at Harry, with a dreamy, but concerned smile on her face. "Is everything alright, Harry?" she asked.

Harry flushed. "Everything's f – fine," he lied. _I really got to stop doing that._

As Hermione, Ron, and Ginny began to regale Neville with how their summers had gone, Harry watched the rain pouring down outside as he desperately tried – and failed – to calm his nerves. Everything that had been happening to him so far since his birthday kept on replaying inside his mind, over and over, to the point where he just wanted to scream for it to stop, along with the slowly worsening pain that he was experiencing. He felt like he was going to explode from it all, due to how worried and – dare he say it? – _terrified_ he was.

At some point in his anxious musings, Harry must've fallen asleep, because although he didn't dream like before, he felt himself groggily waking up. He didn't immediately open his eyes or move, though, because the first thing that his mind registered when he woke up was that his friends were talking – and they were talking about _him_.

" – just worried about him, that's all," he heard Ron say concernedly. "I know I wasn't before, but...he's been acting _odd_ , lately. Like he's worried about something, but he won't say what, 'cause he's scared to."

"I agree," Hermione admitted, and even though he couldn't see her, Harry knew that she was biting her lip due to her concerned nature. "After all, you've seen how he's been looking at me and Ginny lately, and how he got sick at the Quidditch World Cup. Something is bugging him – about him, about us, I don't know. What I _do_ know, though, is that he isn't fine, no matter how much he says he is."

"His magic seems to think so, too," Ginny added. "I mean, Neville, he _shocked_ Hermione and I the day before the Cup, the day before he came over! And Bill says that it usually doesn't happen inside our wards, but it happened anyways! And then..." She trailed off.

"And then what?" Ron asked, his voice curious.

"It's none of your business, Ron," Hermione replied defensively.

Ron made a sound then, as if he wanted to protest such a notion, but before he could speak, Luna suddenly said, "And then you had _the_ dream, didn't you?"

The entire compartment went silent.

"L – Luna?" Hermione asked a few moments later, her voice trembling. "What do you mean?"

"When I helped Harry find you the night of the Cup, he touched me. Accidentally," Luna replied, and Harry couldn't help but feel a little impressed at her lying skills, because they were _good_. "And he shocked me, like he did to you and Ginny. It was quite a powerful shock. I didn't really think about it until later – " that was yet another lie " – after I had fallen asleep and woken up from the most _wonderful_ dream. In it, I dreamed that – well, the contents of the dream don't matter, I suppose. What does is that it had to do with Harry...and I've never had dreams about him in _that_ way before, not even when I was little, because I never liked him in that way. But it was nice. Very... _arousing_."

" _Luna_!" Ron gasped, flabbergasted.

There was silence again for a few moments, before Ginny tentatively said, "...Luna's right...about her not liking Harry before she touched him, I mean! She never had a crush on Harry when we were kids...and she wasn't ever interested in those fantasy books about Harry. Not like I was. But...I just...what does it all _mean_? That's what I don't understand. Hermione and I have been trying to come up with answers for two weeks now, but we haven't come up with anything, except for him maybe having problems with his magic. But that just doesn't happen on its own...it's usually the result of a curse or something like that. And it would be affecting way more people than just me, Hermione, and Luna."

Ron didn't say anything, so Harry presumed that he nodded in response to what Ginny said, even if his best friend didn't fully understand it.

"I'll do some research in the library this weekend," Hermione said, as was her wont. "I'm not sure if there will be any more information there, but...it's a start, right?"

Harry took the silence that followed as an indicator that they all nodded in agreement.

He decided then that now was the time for him to feign waking up, because otherwise his friends would probably start to worry even more than they already seemed to – minus Luna, of course. But, before he could open his eyes, yawn, and stretch, a shooting pain coursed through his body from his scar, causing him to gasp and jolt in surprise.

"Harry!" Hermione cried out in surprise.

"I'm f – " Harry began to say, before he stopped himself. He _had_ to stop saying that he was fine. His friends were already too worried about him, and he was not going to feed into that worry. "Just had a bad dream, that's all. What did I miss?"

Neville, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all shared a nervous look.

Luna was unfazed, though...probably because she knew that he had been awake all along, if he had to guess. "You missed the lunch trolley and Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas stopping by, but not much else," she said, before she furrowed her eyebrows, as if deep in thought. "And perhaps Draco Malfoy, too. I thought I saw him staring in at us earlier, but when he noticed that you were sleeping, he left. The nargles must've infected him."

Hermione looked as if she wanted to ask just what "nargles" were, but had decided it was better not to.

"Err...thanks, Luna," Harry said, before he turned to talk to the rest of the group, steadfastly ignoring how much pain he was in, and how close it was getting to be _too much_ pain – even for him.

The rest of the train's journey passed in more of an easy-going fashion, or at least as much it was able to be. They all talked about their summers, continuing the conversation from before – although Harry, of course, left out the parts that he was unwilling to share – before they spoke about what they were looking forward to the most that year. For Ron, it was whatever event their parents weren't telling them about that was supposed to occur at Hogwarts. For Neville, it was getting to work with some of the more dangerous Herbology plants. And for Hermione and Ginny, it was school in general and getting to start her electives (Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures), respectively. As for Harry and Luna, Harry didn't really have anything that he was looking forward to (as he was too busy dealing with his slowly mounting pain to really think about it), while Luna said she was looking forward to the school's pudding the most (which Neville and Hermione looked at her oddly for, while Ginny smiled and Ron gave a good-natured roll of his eyes in response).

Soon enough, it was time for them to change into their school robes, and then soon after that the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in Hogsmeade station. They all stood up, ready to go, although when Harry stood, the shooting pain returned again. He winced as it spread through his body, but not loud enough for anyone except Luna to notice.

"Don't worry, Harry," the girl whispered with a kind smile as she stayed behind, letting Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville walk out of the compartment, completely oblivious to what was going on. "It won't be long, now. Mabon is almost ready."

"R – ready for what, Luna?" Harry asked desperately. "Please, tell me!"

"I can't, Harry," she replied with a gentle smile. "It's not my place to. But all will make sense shortly. You'll see."

Then, the girl gently grabbed his arm, causing yet another jolt of electricity to pulse between them. Instantly, Harry tasted that golden-green taste again, and he smelled it, too. But that wasn't all. Because, for a moment, _just a single moment_ , Harry thought he saw a tendril of golden-green magic form around her neck, and two sparks of golden-green magic suddenly form in the irises of her eyes. But then both things were gone, leaving him to wonder if he ever saw it in the first place as the two of them followed after his – _their?_ he silently wondered – friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: The Welcoming Feast


	10. Chapter 9: The Welcoming Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Here is the chapter that you have all been waiting for: the last chapter of the "calm before the storm" arc! I hope you all enjoy it, as after this is where things will really start to go off the canon rails that I've been using up until now. ;)
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on Tuesday, as always...although, I will admit, I am thinking about taking the last week of June and first week of July off as a break. The Fourth of July is usually a really busy time for me, and even if some of that has been taken away due to the coronavirus, it'd also be really nice just to have another break in order to catch up on some writing. I don't know, though...after my last break wound up being so busy, I'm a little hesitant to go on another one LOL.
> 
> Welp, I have nothing to say other than that. So, until next time,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Thursday, 1 September 1994_ **

**_Hogsmeade, Scotland, Great Britain_ **

**Upon getting off of the train, Harry and Luna hurried as best as they could towards the horseless carriages, where both of them could see Rom, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny waiting for them.** The rain was coming down harder now, and it easily began to soak their clothing as they rushed to the carriages. Neither of them stopped to say hello to Hagrid, which Harry felt guilty for, but he was in so much pain and so cold and wet that he didn't want to stop, not for a moment, out of fear that if he stopped walking he would wind up crumpling over from the pain.

Once the two of them joined the others in the carriage and closed the door, the carriage went off, driving them through the Hogwarts gates and down the sweeping drive until, before they all knew it, the carriage came to a stop in front of the castle. Hurriedly, all six of their group exited the carriage and hurried up the stone steps and into the cavernous, torch-lit entrance, following in the footsteps of the several students who had already gone indoors and escaped the onslaught of the rain outside.

"Blimey," Ron said as he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm soaked, and I didn't even spend that much time in the rain!"

"Same here," Neville agreed with a grimace. "And if it lasts much longer, the lake will probably overflow, and you know what that will – _agh_!"

A large, red, water-filled balloon had seemingly come out of nowhere and pelted Neville in the face, causing him to fall onto the floor with his exclaimed grunt and making him even more thoroughly drenched than before. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Luna all stared at him with wide eyes, before another balloon went zooming by, narrowly missing Ron in the process.

"PEEVES!" the voice of Professor McGonagall shouted. Harry turned, and saw that not only was she dashing out of the Great Hall, but that Peeves was floating twenty-feet above them, with a wide, malicious grin on his face. "Peeves, come down here at once!"

Peeves merely snickered in response, before throwing yet another water balloon towards Professor McGonagall, or rather towards a spot near her, as it was clear that he purposely misfired this one. The Transfiguration professor, head of the Gryffindor house, and deputy headmistress shrieked in response and jumped to avoid the balloon, causing her to skid around on the wet floor. Desperately, she grabbed Ron around the neck in order to stop herself from falling.

"Oh, dear me!" she exclaimed. "Sorry, Mr. Weasley!"

"That's alright, Professor," Ron said with a grimace, before he helped McGonagall to her feet.

Once she was on her feet, the woman carefully straightened her pointed hat and glared up at Peeves through her rectangle-rimmed glasses as she yelled, "Peeves, get down here _now_!"

"But _why_?" Peeves whined in a petulant voice, before he cackled and threw another water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who all screamed and ran into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? What's the problem with a little more water? Wheeeeeee!" And with that, he aimed another water balloon at a group of second years who had just walked inside the entrance hall, causing them all to shriek and duck for cover.

"I'm warning you, Peeves!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "You know what the headmaster said – "

Before she could say anything else, Peeves sighed, blew a raspberry at her, and threw the last of his water balloons up into the air, before zooming off, cackling insanely all the while.

For a moment, no one said or did anything, but then Professor McGonagall turned to all of the shocked students and said, "Well, move along then!", and they all promptly slipped and slid across the entrance hall and into the Great Hall through the double doors to their right.

As per every year, the Great Hall was well-decorated for the start-of-term feast, and all of the four student tables were packed with chattering students. And despite the worry and pain that he was experiencing, Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight, because Hogwarts was his home away from home, the one place where he always felt like he truly belonged.

"Well, I suppose I will see you all later," Luna told them when they walked by the Ravenclaw table on the rest of the group's walk to the Gryffindor one at the far side of the hall.

"Yeah, sure, Luna," Ginny replied with a smile. Next to her, Ron and Neville nodded in agreement, while Hermione just gave a small smile, obviously perturbed at the blonde girl's antics.

As for Harry, all he could do was stare at the girl with wide eyes as she went to sit down at the Ravenclaw table, with one last small, wistful smile directed his way.

At the Gryffindor table, the five of them sat down at a place that was just right next to where Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were sitting. Both of the two boys greeted them pleasantly, and soon enough Ron was getting into a conversation with them about which plays at the Quidditch World Cup had been the best, versus which ones had been the worst. Harry only listened with half an ear, though, because as they spoke another jolt of pain went through him, causing him to wince and clutch his thigh with one of his hands rather tightly. Thankfully – or perhaps _unthankfully_ , since at this point he would've given anything to stop the pain – though, none of his friends noticed.

In an effort to distract himself from his agony, Harry turned and looked up at the staff table. The first thing he noticed was that there were three empty seats, which may have seemed like more than usual, but two of them could easily be explained by Professor McGonagall surveying the cleaning up of the entrance hall while waiting for the first years that Hagrid was bringing across the lake, as per tradition. He didn't know why the third seat was empty, though, as everyone seemed to be accounted for – including one of the new professors, who was watching the students with rapt attention from his place at the farthest end of the staff table.

As Harry looked at the man, he was struck by a sudden... _familiarity_ about him. Why, though, Harry didn't know, because he was almost certain that he had never seen the man before. The man looked to be about fifty-years-old, with short, brown hair that had several grey streaks in it, and a startling pair of fierce grey eyes, that, even from the distance, Harry couldn't help but think had seen a _lot_ in the man's lifetime. The way that the man sat only provided further evidence to this theory, as he sat with his back perfectly straight, as if he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to escape.

"I wonder who that is?" Hermione asked from where she was sitting, right next to Harry.

At her words, the rest of their group – Dean and Seamus included – turned to look at the man. "Looks like the new DADA professor," Seamus said with a shrug. "At least, that's my bet, anyways. He looks like one."

"Nah. Look at the clothing he's wearing," Ron pointed out. "He looks like a history professor."

And indeed, he did – albeit, Harry couldn't help but think that the man looked more like a _muggle_ history professor than a magical one, given his tweed dark green jacket, light brown vest, and dark brown dress pants. _But still_..."Professor Lupin dressed similarly," Hermione replied, unknowingly voicing Harry's own thoughts on the matter, although her voice had more of an...edge to it than he would have liked, probably due to still holding a grudge towards their new history professor for taking _A History of Magic_ off of the school supplies list.

"That's true," Dean admitted. "But, it'd be kind of lame to have a repeat of Lupin, don't you think? Not to say that Lupin's a bad teacher, but, after all of the DADA teachers we've had...I'm hoping for something better. Newer. More... _unique_ , you know? 'Cause otherwise, what's the point in hiring a new DADA teacher? Especially when this year's curriculum is where we're supposed to start practicing actual defense spells and learn about curses and stuff like that."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes in response.

Ginny looked like she wanted to add some of her own input in on the matter, but before she could, Professor McGonagall walked into the hall with a long line of first years trailing behind her. They all looked rather small, Harry thought, and scared, and most of all, wet, as if they had swam through the lake rather than sailing across it. One boy in particular looked especially like he had fallen into the lake – a small (even by first year standards), mousy-haired boy who he couldn't help but think looked a lot like Colin Creevey, a third year boy who got on Harry's nerves quite a bit. The similarities were only confirmed when, after looking rather determinedly at the Gryffindor table the small first year waved and mouthed something at Colin, who was sitting only a few regular table-lengths away from Harry and his friends.

At the front of the hall, Professor McGonagall placed a three-legged stool on the ground in front of both the first years and the staff table. Then, she placed the Sorting Hat on top of it. For a moment, everyone stared at it and there was silence, but then the brim of the hat opened up like a mouth, and the hat began to sing.

At first, Harry listened to the song with as much attention he could manage, just like everyone else. But then, before the hat even got past the first ten or so lines of its song, he grunted as another shot of pain flared through his body, which was quickly followed by what was now a semi-familiar feeling for him: the feeling of being _shocked_.

With wide eyes, Harry looked down at his lap, and at the hand that was on his thigh. Although he couldn't see all of it due to his school robes, he was able to see the scars on the back of his hand, the scars that were...the scars that were...

_The scars that were now glowing golden-green, just like they had the night of the Cup, when his sprained ankle had miraculously healed._

Harry felt the blood leave from his face. He also felt another shock a moment later, as he unknowingly set his hand back down on his thigh. With another wince, he lifted his hand so that it was just above his lap, just as the Sorting Hat finished its song.

"Well, that was a nice song this year," Hermione said once it was finished, while she, their friends, and the rest of the hall broke out into applause. "Don't you think?"

"Uh...yeah," Harry replied noncommittally as the rest of their friends all nodded and agreed as well.

At the front of the hall, Professor McGonagall proceeded to unroll that year's list of students, which was perhaps the largest scroll of student lists that Harry had ever seen. She then gave the first years the same instructions that she had his year when he was a first year, and Harry was surprised how close to verbatim it was.

What followed next was the sorting of around sixty students. Harry couldn't bring himself to pay attention to much of it, but he did hear a Stewart Ackerly get sorted into Ravenclaw, a Malcolm Baddock get sorted into Slytherin, an Eleanor Branstone get sorted into Hufflepuff, and Dennis Creevey (the name of the boy that he assumed to be Colin Creevey's younger brother) get sorted into Gryffindor. All of them, along with the rest of their year-mates, were welcomed with enthusiastic applause from each of their respective tables. Harry tried his best to be part of the celebration with Dennis Creevey and the rest of the new Gryffindors, but it was hard to do when the jolts of pain were lasting longer and longer, and when the time between them was getting shorter and shorter.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Sorting was over, and all of the new students were now sitting at one of the four tables. At the staff table, Professor Dumbledore stood up from the large, golden chair that was reserved for the headmaster of the school, his arms wide open in welcome. "Welcome students, both new and old," he said, but although he sounded jovial, the twinkling that was usually in his eyes was missing, making a wave of uneasiness wash over Harry, which only made him feel even worse. "Now, although I am sure that many of you would rather I let you all eat first and talk later," here, he seemed to look over at Ron, who was practically salivating from how hungry he was, "I am afraid that I have a few matters that I should call to your attention first.

"First, I am pleased to introduce you all to your new History of Magic professor, Professor Ulric Pritchard," Dumbledore said. At the end of the table, the man wearing the tweed jacket stood, and gave a short bow to all of the students, who greeted him with casual applause. A few moments later, he sat down, and Dumbledore continued with, "Professor Pritchard has come to us after Professor Binns, who I am sure you all will miss – "

Ron snorted, causing Hermione to glare at him.

" – was finally convinced to go into retirement by our school's wide Board of Governors," Dumbledore finished. "Also joining our staff this year is Alastor Moody – "

Ron, Neville, and Seamus suddenly gasped – and they weren't the only ones. Across the hall, several people gasped and started to murmur, causing Professor Dumbledore to pause in his speech and allow them all some time to adjust to the news. Once things had quieted down somewhat, he raised his hand, causing the rest of the students to go quiet, and allow him to resume his speech. "Yes," he said humorously. "I know that many of you are familiar with him, due to him being an auror up until this past year, when he finally retired, only to graciously accept my offer for him to become your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Unfortunately, due to how late I asked for him to join our staff this year, Professor Moody was not able to join us for the start-of-term feast, although I assure you that he will be here for the start of class."

"Now, onto other matters," Dumbledore continued. "As I am sure all of you older students are aware, the forest that is on school grounds is out-of-hounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has also asked me to remind you that the list of forbidden items, which now numbers at somewhere around hundred and thirty-seven, can be viewed in his office for those of you who would like to check it. The number has been updated since last year, and now includes Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. More items may be added throughout the year.

"And now, onto the news that all of you have probably been waiting for since perhaps halfway through this past summer – "

Suddenly, the headmaster stopped speaking.

At the end of the staff table, Professor Pritchard had suddenly stood up, his eyes wide. In fact, he had stood up so quickly that his chair had gotten knocked over in the process, and it fell to the ground with a loud _thud_.

None of the students spoke. But, they all turned with wide eyes to look at the point that Professor Pritchard was looking – no, _staring_ – at.

And that point just so happened to be _Harry_.

At first, Harry didn't know why everyone was staring at him – outside of him, of course, being the Boy-Who-Lived or something like that, but Professor Pritchard surely must've been briefed on that over the summer, or, at the very least, had _assumed_ that Harry Potter would have been one of his students. But then, as the fourteen-year-old boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, he realized that nobody was actually looking at him, no. Instead, they were looking at a place that was just below where he was sitting, as if they could somehow see his lap and the scars that were faintly glowing on his hands.

Nervously, he shifted in his seat at the thought.

"H – Harry?" Hermione whispered from next to him. "Wh – what are you doing?"

"What?" Harry asked numbly, too shocked at the sudden turn of events to really register her worry, her _fear_. Then, he looked down at his hands, and saw that the entirety of them, and not just his lightning-shaped scars like on the night of the Cup or just his fingertips like on the night of his birthday, were _glowing_ brilliantly, and acting as a beacon to the rest of the school. Apparently, he had been in too much pain to realize the transition from just his scars flowing to the rest of his hands illuminating, if there ever was one.

But Professor Pritchard obviously had.

Harry felt his mouth run dry at the thought. Instinctively, he wet his lips. "I – I don't know," he said calmly. But then, the panic set in, and he looked up at his best friend with wide, fearful eyes. "I – Hermione, I – _I don't know!_ I really don't – _agh_!"

Another jolt of pain flashed through his body...except this one wasn't like any of the ones before – at least, not any of the ones that had occurred that day. The pain was deep, _bone deep_ , and it burned through his entire body with such vicious agony that he couldn't help but scream as everything became non-existent, as everything lost meaning.

...Except for Hermione, that is. Because as Harry's body burned and as his mind quickly became unable to comprehend anything, he couldn't help but look at her with wide eyes as her mouth opened to scream...and as a thick tendril of golden-green magic – _his magic_ – reached out towards her.

And that was the last thing that Harry saw before his world spiraled and turned to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Revelations Pt. 1 (yes, Pt. 1, because the revelations that happen in Pt. 1 are different from the revelations that happen in Pt. 2...you'll see what I mean.)


	11. Chapter 10: Revelations Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you all had a wonderful weekend! I got quite a bit to talk about today, so I hope you don't mind...too much, at least LOL. If you do, feel free to skip this A/N, although personally, I would advise against it, because I have a little bit of info to share.
> 
> First and foremost about today's chapter, the entire chapter is almost all one conversation! I'm sorry if that bothers you, but this was the best way to get all of the information about what's happened to Harry out. And, speaking of Harry, that leads me into my next point: if Harry seems...off to you during this chapter, it's because he's in shock. The reality of the situation hasn't quite set in yet for him, even when he thinks at several moments in this chapter that it has. So, keep that in mind for the few moments when you're like "What? Why isn't he freaking out more?" ha ha! ;)
> 
> As for that break that I mentioned that I was thinking about taking in the last chapter's A/N...yeah, I decided I'm going to take it, 'cause I need a break from this story and my other one! The break will go from June 22nd to July 3rd, which means that, after this Thursday's chapter, the next chapter will be on Tuesday, July 7th. I hope you all won't get too peeved about that, though, because as I said, I need a break to write something new (something short) and to just overall...vibe, I guess? I don't know. We'll see lol!
> 
> Also, last time I checked on this story's stats (which was Sunday), we are now at 16k+ views, 130+ favorites, and 230+ follows on FFN, while on AO3 we are at 4k+ views, 52 kudi (yes I'm still using this as the plural form of kudos), and 20 bookmarks. Which is a lot! So, thank you all so much for your favorites/follows/bookmarks/whatever else you do to show your appreciation for this story, because it really means a lot. Seriously. I'm getting all warm and fuzzy inside just from thinking about it! ^-^
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on Thursday, so I will see you all then. But, until then, I hope you all are well and stay safe!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Sunday, 4 September 1994  
_ ** **_Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain_ **

**Harry felt like he had just lost consciousness when he was suddenly pulled back awake by a sharp, shrill sound – the sound of somebody _screaming_.**

Instinctively, he jolted into a sitting position with wide, unfocused eyes, his chest heaving as he began to hyperventilate. Only once he realized where he was, the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, did he begin to calm down – but it certainly wasn't an easy thing to do, at least not when whoever it was that was screaming was still screaming, and there were several voices that seemed to be telling them to calm down, if their hurried and unintelligible (most likely due to the privacy curtains that surrounded the beds) speech was any indicator.

Nervously, Harry ran a hand through his hair as he tried to remember just how he had gotten himself into the Hospital Wing yet again. The last thing that he had remembered was the Welcoming Feast, and the jolts of pain that prevented him from listening to the Sorting Hat's song, the sorting itself, and Dumbledore's speech. He also remembered the new History of Magic professor, Professor Pritchard, jumping up from his chair to look at him, causing the rest of the school to do so as well, and...and...

 _...And a golden-green tendril of magic –_ his magic _– reaching out to Hermione as he succumbed to the sudden agony that he had been put through._

"Hermione," he whispered as he saw the image in his mind's eye, saw her look of terror as she opened her mouth to scream. "Hermione!" he said again, except this time he said her name a bit louder.

Suddenly, the privacy curtain that had been surrounding his bed was opened, revealing a witch on the other side. Harry stared at her in surprise, both because he hadn't realized someone was standing right outside his privacy curtains and because he had never seen _anyone_ , let alone a witch, with spiky, bubblegum pink-colored hair before.

At first, the witch narrowed her hazel eyes at him, before her face relaxed and she said, "Wotcher, Potter. You awake?"

Harry blinked in response. "Uh...yeah?" he replied after a few moments, before he asked, "Uh...why am I here? And what day is it?"

"It's September 4th," the witch replied. "You've been out for three days. As for why you're in the Hospital Wing...well...I'll let Professor Dumbledore answer that question for you."

And with that, the witch set his privacy curtain back in place before she walked away.

Harry watched her silhouette go away quietly, although inside, his mind was reeling. He had been out for _three days_? The last time he had been out for that long was, what, his first year, right after he had vanquished Quirrell? Why could he have possibly been out for that long once again, especially when there was seemingly nothing currently wrong with him...besides his new scars, of course?

Before he could dwell too much on that, though, the privacy curtain that surrounded his bed was opened again. This time, it was Professor Dumbledore on the other side – except, it wasn't the Professor Dumbledore that Harry was used to seeing. No. Because while the headmaster was usually jovial and even energetic for his age, he now looked weary and _exhausted_ , as if he hadn't slept at all for the past three days. The twinkling in his eyes was also still missing, which, when combined with the rest of his state, made Harry realize that something was _seriously wrong_.

Hence why, before the headmaster could even greet him, Harry blurted out, "Professor Dumbledore, are you alright?"

The headmaster blinked in response, before he let out a light chuckle as he pulled up a chair. "I am fine, Harry," he said, although the tone of his voice told Harry otherwise. "Or, at least, I will be when all of this is over. But, never mind that. My state or being is none of your concern. In fact, who you should be concerned about right now, Harry, is _yourself_."

Harry frowned. "Myself?" he asked.

Dumbledore nodded. Then, as conspicuously as he could, he looked at Harry's arms, and at all of the lightning-shaped scars that covered them.

Harry's eyes widened at the gesture. "You – you can see them?" he asked. When Dumbledore nodded again, he added, "But nobody has been able to see them! Well, almost nobody, that is..."

"I presume that Ms. Lovegood is the exception that you are thinking of?" Dumbledore asked. Then, before Harry could reply, he added, "That is for a reason, Harry. Ms. Lovegood is what we call an aura reader, or someone who can see the 'auras', or natural magic, around people. It is actually a rather fascinating subject, and one that I do not often get to talk about, but alas, this isn't the time for a discussion about such a gift."

"Err...then what discussion is this the time for, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled softly. "Sentient magic," he replied.

"S – sentient magic?"

The headmaster nodded. "You see, Harry, the reason why no one except for Ms. Lovegood was able to see your scars up until now – or, up until the Welcoming Feast, to be more precise – is because the magic that caused your scars wanted to hide them and, by association, itself, so that it could do what it was intended to do. This choice, this action, was very...conscientious on the magic's part, just as the other things it has done since have been conscientious as well. Hence why, for all intents and purposes, this magic is sentient, even if it isn't necessarily in the way that you would associate sentience with magic."

Unwillingly, Harry's mind flashed to the way that he _did_ associate sentience with magic – the way being Tom Riddle's diary, which had possessed Ginny in his second year. And he shuddered at the thought, even if the diary wasn't, objectively speaking, as bad as the basilisk that he had to face that year or the actual spirit of Voldemort that he had to face the year before. Still, though...

"Professor, this sentient magic that you're talking about," Harry said, "why...why did it want to hide my scars? I – I mean, what did it intend to do? And did it do it? I just...I don't understand."

Dumbledore leaned forward then, his expression becoming more serious. "I can and will answer that question, Harry," he said. "But first, please tell me everything that has happened in relation to this magic ever since it first appeared. Your scars, the conversation that you had with Ms. Lovegood, any dreams that you have had... _everything_. Because it is all equally important."

So, Harry did. He told the headmaster about how it had all initially started just after midnight on his birthday how he had thought about sending the wizard a letter but, in the end, didn't (which he then proceeded to apologize for, but Professor Dumbledore told him "it was no matter, in the end" in response. Whatever that meant.). He also told him about how he had corresponded with Sirius about it, how he had suddenly gained physical attraction to Hermione and Ginny yet lost his physical attraction to Cho, and about the conversation that he had had with Luna that night while his magic had somehow healed his sprained ankle. And all of it was like the bursting of the dam, because once he started, he couldn't stop, due to the fact that he had kept all of this to himself for so long when he really hadn't wanted to.

When he had finally finished speaking, Professor Dumbledore stared at him for several silent and uncomfortable moments. Then, he leaned back into his chair, clasped his hands together, and said, "The story of Mabon that Ms. Lovegood told you, Harry, is more myth than legend now, but it does have some grain of truth to it."

Harry's frown deepened. "What do you mean, sir?" he asked.

"While there was a man called Mabon ap Modron," Dumbledore replied, "He lived long before King Arthur and his men – long before the Roman invasion, even. He lived during the time that many magical historians call the Druid Era of the British Isles. During this era, most wizards used staves, the proto-wands, which were wild and untamed, much like the personalities of the wizards that owned them. So, suffice to say, this era was marked by constant strife and chaos, especially since most wizards tended to be polygamists and the kidnapping of wives and killing of children was common practice.

"This is where Modron, Mabon's mother, comes in," Dumbledore continued. "Modron was one of the many wives of a powerful wizard who lived in Wales, and he was under constant threat due to his status. Out of fear for their child's life, should her husband perish in battle or through other nefarious means, Modron decided to create a ritual that would all but ensure her child's life should anything happen to his father or herself. And not just that, but it would ensure his bloodline – and, arguably, as Ms. Lovegood told you, his happiness – as well."

"By betrothing him to other people?" Harry asked, already catching on to where Dumbledore was going with this.

Gently, the headmaster nodded. "In a matter of speaking, yes," he said. "Although, I do believe that the more correct term in our modern English would be _bonding_ , because while normal betrothals can be broken, this one cannot. _Ever_. Once a person is bound to someone that, as Ms. Lovegood stated, is touched by Mabon, they will forever be bound to them. Betrothed to them. And eventually, married to them."

Harry gave a hard swallow, before he shifted in his bed nervously. Luna had, in her own way, already told him about all of this before, so he probably wasn't as shocked as he should be – in fact, he felt _numb_ more than anything else – but still...he had to know for sure. "And this – this is what happened to me, Professor?" he asked.

The headmaster nodded again. "Just before the night that Voldemort killed your parents, Harry," he said, "James and Lily discovered Modron's ritual. I am not quite sure how they found it, but they had been looking for a way for you to survive Voldemort's wrath for a long time...they both presumed that they would die in the war somehow, someway, you see. And when they found it, through Modron's ritual, they did not hesitate to use the ritual on you."

Idly and unemotionally, Harry couldn't help but think that the headmaster's statement wasn't quite true. Because despite his birthday occurring well over a month ago, he could still remember hearing his parents' voices talking in the dream that had happened then, could still hear them say...

_"...We can save him, Lily! Don't you want this? Isn't this what we've been looking for, all this time?"_

"This isn't saving him, James! This is dooming him! Him and everyone he will ever know!"

Harry blinked as he felt the blood quickly leave from his face. Nervously, he wet his lips, before he turned back to look at Dumbledore and said, "But I – I don't understand. I mean, wouldn't I have had my – my scars already? Wouldn't all of this have already happened by now?"

Dumbledore gazed at him sympathetically. "Unfortunately, no, Harry. Because one of the results of the ritual is, as I said, sentient magic, which is instructed not to actually start the main processes of the ritual until the ritual bearer's – as they are called – fourteenth birthday. Up until then, no one could have realized that you were a bearer of the ritual...myself included."

The regret in the headmaster's voice was obvious, much to Harry's surprise. The astonishment must've shown on his face, too, because Dumbledore gave him another small smile as he said, "Yes, Harry. I knew how much your aunt hated your mother. I knew that, by placing you there, I was not giving you the loving home that you deserved. But, I well and truly believed that it was your mother's love that had caused your survival, and not Modron's ritual, and so I placed you with your aunt and her family out of that belief, believing that it was necessary when it truly was not. For that, I am sorry, even if I had no way of knowing otherwise. But you can rest assured, now that the truth is out, you will never have to go back there."

Harry's eyes widened at the thought. "N – never?" he asked.

"Never," the headmaster confirmed.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes – Harry because he was in too much shock to, and Dumbledore because he was patiently waiting for Harry to ask his next question. But what kind of question could he possibly ask? He had just been told what Luna had told him – what he had feared to be true – _was_ true, and that because of it, his life had been turned upside down, changed irrevocably. Forever. Because while living with the Dursleys had always been a semi-permanent thing, this...this _wasn't_. It was permanent. All of it. From the scars to the – to the –

"Care for a lemon drop, Harry?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

Professor Dumbledore had pulled an open bag of sweets out of his robes, which was full of lemon drops – the headmaster's favorite sweet. "Besides being a delicious, tart treat," the headmaster said patiently, "These lemon drops are also laced with a mild Calming Draught. Thus, while taking one or even two won't calm you down to the point of bliss, it will help you to calm down some, so that you can think about things in a better light."

Knowing that Dumbledore probably had more to say to him and that he wouldn't be able to talk much longer with how fast he was getting to a full-on panic attack, Harry cautiously took two of the lemon drops, unwrapped them, and popped them into his mouth. Immediately, he began to feel calmer, although it still took a few minutes for the Calming Draught to settle in. When it had, though, he sucked in a long, deep breath, and told the headmaster, "Thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore merely waved his hand. "Consider it nothing," he said. "Because I daresay that almost any man, both young and old, both muggle and wizard, would have almost the same reaction that you are having now, including myself."

For some reason, the picture of Dumbledore panicking like he was caused Harry to chuckle – not full-on laugh, though. The Calming Draught prevented that. After a few moments, though, his chuckling subsided, and with a calmer mentality than he had had before, he asked, "Professor...is there anything else I should know? Besides the identities of the girls that are...err...bound to me, I mean?"

"There are three things that you must know, besides the identities of your...we shall simply call them your _betrothed_ , for now," Dumbledore replied. "The first is that, admittedly, the sentient magic that chose them for you was not... _subtle_ in doing so."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"One of the side effects of the magic on your betrothed is that it uses some of your own magic to signify them as...for lack of a better term, yours," the headmaster explained. "It does this by making your magic, which is the golden-green magic that you have been seeing since your fourteenth birthday, form a...choker, or neckband, around each of your betrothed's throats." Dumbledore momentarily paused then, but whether it was for Harry's sake or his own – because the headmaster looked quite alarmed when he said the word "choker" – Harry didn't know. "Like the bond that they now share with you, these pieces of jewelry are permanent, and they will never be able to take them off, not even in death. But the jewelry also cannot be used against them in, say, a choking fashion, as the result will be a kickback of magic to the perpetrator."

Harry breathed in deeply through his nose. Although the idea of someone being identified as _his_ through a – a col – a _choker_ was sickening and revolting, he also knew that, if what Dumbledore was saying was true, the people from the era that the ritual he had been subjected to came from viewed women (and children) as little more than _property_. Oh, sure, the headmaster had never stated it that way, but through reading in between the lines and hearing what was implied but not actually stated, Harry knew it to be true.

"Okay," Harry finally said once he had gotten a grapple on his panic. The Calming Draught truly was helpful for that, at least, along with seemingly helping him think more rationally. "I don't like it, but I think I at least understand it. Some of it, anyways. What's the second thing?"

"Are you familiar with actual betrothal contracts, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "I doubt that you are, given you being raised by a muggle family, but still, I must ask."

Harry blinked. "Uh...no?" he said. "Why?"

Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat again. "In the wizarding world, betrothal contracts are just as they sound – contracts for arranged marriage," he explained. "Now, I could give you another history lesson on them as well, but for the sake of time, I won't. In fact, I only bring them up because a common stipulation in betrothal contracts is a specific date that the couple-to-be should be married by. Usually, it's the groom's twenty-first birthday, although on the rare occasion, it's his seventeenth, which is the age of emancipation in our world.

"Like these contracts, Harry, there is a date that you will be expected to – and when I say this, I mean all but forced by your own magic – to marry all of your betrothed by," Dumbledore continued. "And that date is your seventeenth birthday, which, as you know, is almost three years from now."

Despite the Calming Draught in him, Harry's eyes widened. "Th – three years?" he asked.

Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic smile. "Actually, you will probably be expected to get married to some of your wives much sooner than that, due to the fact that many of your betrothed come from old, pureblood families that are well-known for their beliefs in traditionalism," he said. "In fact, I would not be surprised if some of them want you to get married as soon as next month."

"N – next month? But I'm only fourteen!" Harry protested.

"Alas, the age of consent for both wizards and witches is much younger than our muggle counterparts," Dumbledore sighed. "That is one of the pieces of legislation that I have not been able to amend. For wizards, the age of consent is fourteen, while for witches...well, I am sorry to say that, for witches, the age of consent is thirteen."

"Thir – _thirteen_?" Harry gasped. "But that's – that's – "

"Too young?" Dumbledore asked. When Harry nodded, he said, "I agree. I've tried multiple times to change both the age of consent for wizards and witches to sixteen in the past so that we are more on par with the muggle government, but each time, it has been shot down. Perseus Parkinson, the father of your classmate Pansy, has always been the most vocal in opposing the idea, as he married her mother when she was only fourteen years old."

Harry tried to imagine himself a month from now, in those bottle green dress robes that Mrs. Weasley had gotten him, waiting for a girl who was presumably his age – if not a little older – to walk down the aisle so that they could exchange their vows – but he _couldn't_. The idea seemed so strange, so _absurd_ , that it was almost comical. _Almost_. Because the fact that it could very well happen stole all of the possible humor to be found in that thought.

Desperate to get his mind off of the topic, Harry wrung his hands nervously before he let out a shaky breath and said, "Okay. _Okay_. There's that. What's – what's the third thing, Professor?"

Dumbledore gazed at him softly. "We don't have to discuss anything more right now, Harry, if that is what you wish," he said. "In fact, it might be good for you to take some time now to adjust to all of this."

But Harry only shook his head. "No," he said. "I have to – I have to know everything. Now. Because otherwise – otherwise I don't know what I'll do. So, please, Professor. Tell me."

"Very well," the headmaster replied. "The third thing that you must know is that, when your betrothed were chosen, one of them was very... _unexpected_. More so than any of the others. This is because, while she was thought to be muggleborn, this young lady actually had a squib for a grandfather, and a witch for a great-grandmother. Although the young lady has no recollection of her great-grandmother, who died not even a week after she was born, the great-grandmother did something that our society would consider to be one of the few sacrilegious acts that can be performed against a child."

Harry nervously wet his lips, before asking, "And what – what's that, Professor?"

"She performed a charm on the young lady that would make everyone – even the young lady herself – believe that she was a boy," Dumbledore said. "Which is why this young lady being betrothed to you is so unexpected. And it is also why you heard that scream earlier, because that is when she finally woke up for the first time since the Welcoming Feast and found out about her true nature."

Harry stiffened at the headmaster's words – not just because he couldn't believe that someone would purposely hide someone else's true gender from them, but also because of its _implications_. Because, if he was to presume that this – this girl was in his year, that only left a small number of candidates as to who she could be, as there were only five muggleborn boys in his year. Only five people that this mysterious girl could be...

"...Sir, who is it?" he asked, even if, in that moment, he was terrified of knowing the answer.

Dumbledore did not answer him immediately. In fact, he did not say anything for several long, uncomfortable moments, which made Harry shift in his bed nervously. Finally, though, just when he was about to ask the headmaster again, the old wizard looked him directly in the eye and said, "According to her true birth record, which is found both in an office of the muggle government's and in the Ministry of Magic's records, her name is Justine Allison Finch-Fletchley. Although, at this point in time, I believe that she is more comfortable with the name Justin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Revelations Pt. 2
> 
> Edit: Corrected a typo and the chapter titles of the last several chapters :)
> 
> Edit 2: Added a word I previously forgot to put in...somehow lol


	12. Chapter 11: Revelations Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I'm terribly sorry about the update being so late today – my health issues have been steadily taking a nose dive for the past week or so, and for the past three days it's been really hard to write (or do anything else, really). In fact, I wasn't sure if I was going to finish this chapter today or not at all, but thankfully I was able to get my butt in gear long enough to get it done. ;)
> 
> The next update will be on July 7th, as I am taking my break (which is a lot more needed now than I thought it was when I planned it!). In the very unlikely event that I don't update on that day, though, I promise you all that there will be an explanation on my profile by the next day explaining why and when I think I'll be updating again. But, like I said, this event is very unlikely, as my health issues usually get better after two weeks or so when they take such a big nosedive like this. :)
> 
> So, until July 7th, I hope that you all remain well and stay safe. Seriously. Don't do anything that I wouldn't do. ;)
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Sunday, 4 September 1994  
_ ** **_Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain_ **

**After Dumbledore had dropped the bombshell about Justin – _Justine?_ – Finch-Fletchley, Harry couldn't help but stare at the older wizard in abject horror.**

Although he hadn't been able to imagine _any_ of the muggleborn boys in his year actually being girls, Justin was probably the second to last person he had figured Dumbledore had been talking about, with Dean being the absolute last. Why? Because Justin Finch-Fletchley had come from an upper class muggle family, which made it hard to imagine him – _her_ – being descended from a witch, as such an idea seemed to directly contradict the idea of nobility.

...But then again, wouldn't a witch be more likely to marry into a noble family, especially if she came from a pureblood, traditional family like Draco Malfoy or some of Harry's betrothed?

Speaking of his betrothed, it suddenly occurred to Harry that he still didn't know who all of them were. So, after taking a few moments to calm down – during which he took another of Dumbledore's offered lemon drops – he turned to the headmaster and asked, "Professor, besides Justin – I mean Justine – who else...who else is betrothed to me? Are..." _Hermione and Ginny betrothed to me, too? Luna? Katie Bell? Lily Moon? Sally-Anne Perks? Daphne Greengrass? Susan Bones?_

"Well," Dumbledore said, stirring Harry out of his short, distracted train of thought. "As I am sure you have guessed, Ms. Lovegood, Ms. Granger, and Ms. Weasley are betrothed to you as well. But they are far from the only ones.

"From Gryffindor, there are four other young women that you are betrothed to...and they are Ms. Katie Bell, Ms. Léan Finnegan, Ms. Lily Moon, and Ms. Sally-Anne Perks," he said.

"O – okay," Harry replied, while he mentally counted up the girls, which amounted to eight – which was a _large_ number. Too large for him to be comfortable with, even. But, then he frowned, as a startling realization suddenly occurred to him. "Wait...what do you mean 'from Gryffindor'?"

The headmaster gave him a sympathetic smile. "I mean that there are more young women you are betrothed to that come from the other Houses, outside of just Ms. Lovegood and Ms. Finch-Fletchley," he explained. "For instance, from Ravenclaw, three other young women were chosen, all of whom are in your year, and they are Ms. Sophie Roper, Ms. Isobel MacDougal, and Ms. Morag MacDougal, respectively. From Hufflepuff, two other young women were chosen other than Ms. Finch-Fletchley, and they are Ms. Susan Bones and Ms. Megan Jones. And from Slytherin, Ms. Daphne Greengrass, Ms. Tracey Davis, and Ms. Diana Runcorn, among with Ms. Greengrass's younger sister, Astoria, were chosen as well. And, of course, that is not including the last of your betrothed, a young woman who I believe you let the morning of the Quidditch World Cup...Ms. Gabrielle Delacour, I believe is her name? She was on a train to Beauxbatons – the French sister school of Hogwarts – when the bonding occurred, but has since been moved here for safety and presumable transfer, if that is what she and her parents want."

Harry, though, was no longer listening to Professor Dumbledore by the end of his speech. In fact, he had stopped listening after he had said "Ms. Gabrielle Delacour", because he had still been silently counting the number of girls during the headmaster's explanation and came to a startling – not to mention formidable – number: _eighteen_. _Eighteen_ different girls were now betrothed – no, _bound_ – to him, seventeen of which he didn't really know that well, and fourteen of which he had never really had an extended conversation with. Eighteen different girls who he was going to have to marry sometime between now and his seventeenth birthday, eighteen different girls who he was going have to have sex with, and eighteen different girls he was going to have to support...along with any children that they had...

Suddenly, Harry's stomach churned. Violently. Knowing that he was going to be sick, he quickly leaned over his bed, before promptly throwing up the contents of his already mostly-empty stomach. And even after those contents were gone, he still spent a few minutes dry-heaving until finally, exhausted, he could do it no more. Shakily, he leaned back into the bed and let out a weak, "Sorry, Professor," while the headmaster wordlessly cleaned up his mess with his wand.

At his words, Dumbledore merely waved his hand. "There is no need to apologize, Harry," he said. "As I said before, most men would react in a similar way that you have. In fact, I daresay that many would have even given up the contents of their stomach long before you did."

Harry gave a short, weak chuckle in response, but that was all that he was able to give, because in the next moment he was being drowned in a sea of panic once again. After all, what was he going to do with eighteen wives – besides the obvious, of course? What was he going to say? And how was he going to able to get to know every single one of them individually, on a deep, personal level – a level that he had only previously achieved with Ron and Hermione, and maybe Sirius?

"Harry," Dumbledore said, which caused Harry to once again momentarily stop in his deep, downward spiral of panic. "While I am sure that you want to spend some time alone to think about all of this," and indeed, Harry did, "there are a few other things that you must know."

Harry frowned. "S – sir?" he asked.

"Although I was able to prevent anyone outside of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons from finding out about this... _situation_ , for lack of a better word," the headmaster said, "The fact is that it is undeniable that it is only a matter of time until the rest of the wizarding world finds out – especially because, as of yesterday, all of the families of your betrothed know about it. Of course," he added at the presumably frightened expression on Harry's face, "that is not to say that any of these family members will say anything to anyone else, but still, it is a possibility that you must be made aware of. Likewise, I feel that you should also be made aware of the fact that, while it technically isn't necessary, it would be wise for you to arrange a meeting with your betrothed and their families sometime in the next week."

Harry's eyes widened. "The next week?" he cried out. "Why?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Because while you may want to marry all of your betrothed just before your seventeenth birthday, Harry, their families will still be your families eventually, whether you like it or not," he explained. "And it would be in your best interests to get into their good graces, even if you don't like them – or so I have been told."

"Oh," Harry said, although silently, he couldn't help but disagree with the headmaster's statement. After all, what did trying to get in his relatives' "good graces" get him? Nothing except more chores and more demeaning words thrown at him with the occasional food shortage in between, that's what. "So, when do I..."

"Schedule the meeting?" the headmaster finished for him. When he nodded, Dumbledore chuckled and said, "Perhaps on Wednesday at noon, if that is agreeable to you? The date is not too early in the week for you or them to feel unprepared, but it is not too late, either, so that your betrothed and their families do not get angry at you."

Nervously, Harry nodded in agreement. That arrangement seemed...not _fair_ , per se, but doable, even if the thought of meeting his betrothed and their families face-to-face so soon, and for the first time in the case of most of their families, caused him to feel like he had to throw up all over again.

"Excellent," the headmaster said, with a tone that made it clear that that was all that he was going to say on the matter, as he had something else that he wanted to talk about. "Now, if you don't mind, Harry, I'd like to move onto the less-pressing matters that I still need to share with you today. Do not fret, however, as they do not directly have to do with your current predicament."

"Err...al – alright," Harry replied. "What are they?"

The headmaster smiled. "First and foremost, as most of your schoolmates have already found out, Hogwarts is going to host something called the Triwizard Tournament this year," he explained. "Which is a friendly competition between the three largest schools for witches and wizards in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. In this tournament, a champion is selected to represent each school, and the three champions compete in three different tasks. The champion that wins is given the Triwizard Cup and one thousand galleons in personal prize money, along with the mark of eternal glory."

Harry blinked. "Err...sounds fun?" he croaked out, even if he personally didn't think it did – he had already had too much life-endangering experiences to think it so, on top of all of the news that had just been given to him.

"Quite," Dumbledore agreed with a wry smile. "In the past – that is to say, several centuries ago – students of all ages could partake in the tournament, as long as they were deemed worthy. However, due to the high death toll that resulted in the tournament's original cancellation, this has been revised. Only students who are of age, or seventeen years old and older, may submit their names for consideration...but, that being said, I doubt that I will have to worry about you trying to submit your name in the Cup, so I am not concerned in overly warning you about this, especially given the fact that you will most likely be busy for most of this year between your studies and your betrothed."

"...Err, r – right," Harry said.

"Unfortunately, though, due to the requirements of the Triwizard Tournament, I must also tell you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year," Dumbledore continued with a sad smile.

" _What_?" Harry protested.

"Yes, I know how you must feel about it," the headmaster said. "Messrs. Weasley had similar reactions to the news when I spoke to the Gryffindors about it Friday night. "However, I assure you that this cancellation is only for this year, and that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will be back next year, should you still be interested in keeping your Seeker position."

Harry blinked. Why _wouldn't_ he be interested in keeping his position as Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team? But, of course, even as he thought that, the answer occurred to him: his betrothed could very well make him too busy to play the sport, since he had been already busy enough between Quidditch and his studies last year as it was...and wasn't that an uncomfortable thought, in of itself? Him being too busy to enjoy one of the few things that he actually liked to do? Him already having a full plate in terms of family life at fourteen-years-old, busy with his _eighteen eventual wives_ and their families and whatnot?

Once again, the thought made him sick to his stomach, but it also caused something new to bubble in his stomach as well: _resentment_. Because, everything that he was being put through now, and everything that was going to happen because of the ritual here-on-out, was because of his parents. His parents, who had saved his life, regardless of the cost, regardless of the fact that, by saving him this way, they were _dooming_ him and everyone else he knew...or, at least, that was what his mother had said in his dream. But it was true, wasn't it? They had doomed him, and then they had died, leaving him to deal with the consequences of their actions, consequences that even Dumbledore himself had said almost no man would ever want. And Harry, who had never thought about his parents with nothing but love – even when all that the Dursleys told him about them during his childhood was that they were just worthless drunks – now hated them with a simmering, passionate resentment.

"Finally, Harry," he headmaster added, unaware to the spiral of thought that was going on in Harry's head, even if he did successfully pull him out of it. "Unlike everything else that I have just told you, is my pleasure to inform you that your godfather is here."

Harry blinked at his words, not fully comprehending them due to what he had been thinking just a few moments prior. "S – Sirius is here?" he asked. "But, according to his last letter, he was somewhere in the – "

Dumbledore chuckled. "In the Pacific, yes, I know. However, since he is your godfather, I had him come back here to be here for you during these difficult times...and also for his possible exoneration."

"Ex – _exoneration_? You mean he's going to finally be free?" Harry cried out with wide eyes, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"That is the hope, yes," the headmaster replied with a wider smile than before. "You see, one of your betrothed, Susan Bones, is the niece of Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the past four years. It is my hope that, now that you and her niece are magically tied together, she will be...ah...more _interested_ in hearing about Sirius's case than our minister was...especially given how close the two of them were in their initial post-Hogwarts years."

Again, Harry blinked. Sirius had been "close" with the current _Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ in their "initial post-Hogwarts years"? That was...well, Harry didn't really know what to think about it, even without thinking about everything else that he had just been told. But then again, he'd only met the man at the end of his last school year, and the time that they had spent together then was very brief – too brief, in fact, considering that Harry knew that his parents almost certainly wanted him to be raised by the man. So, suffice to say, there was probably a _lot_ about his godfather that he didn't know, so he really shouldn't be that surprised...should he?

"Now, that being said," Dumbledore said, "Like with the families of your betrothed, I have already debriefed both Sirius and Remus on your – ah – _situation_. And while Remus is unfortunately too busy with his current job to take time off at this moment, Sirius has said that he is willing to come and see you whenever you are willing to see him. He understands how shocking and traumatic this whole ordeal has been – and will be – for you, and also understands that you may need some time alone to properly deal with this. However, as previously said, when you are ready, he is ready. So are Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom, for that matter."

"R – Ron wants to come see me?" Harry asked. "I mean, he – he's not mad at me?"

It was Professor Dumbledore's turn to blink. "While Mr. Weasley may have his flaws, Harry," he replied, "he knows that there is no way you are at fault for this, or could have ever wanted this. In fact, judging by the reaction that he had when I told him, his parents, and his older brothers about what had happened, I doubt that he could have ever wanted this for himself, either."

Harry nodded, not sure of what else to say or do.

The headmaster rose from his seat. "When you have decided that you wish to see Sirius or Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom," he said, "just let the auror posted outside your curtain, Auror Tonks, know. She is a very good auror, and I would trust her with my life...and Sirius's. Especially because she knows about Sirius's innocence, due to her mother being Sirius's closest cousin and a firm denier of his guilt ever since his imprisonment."

"Uh, o – okay," Harry said.

Dumbledore's gaze softened. "And once again, Harry, I am sorry for leaving you with the Dursleys, and I am sorry for not realizing – because I must tell you, that it was Professor Pritchard that did, due to his familiarity with the Druid Era – what your parents did to save you. If I had had, things would have turned out very different, I promise you. I just hope that you can forgive me."

The headmaster moved to leave. Harry was about to watch him go, as once again, he did not know what to say or do in response to Dumbledore's words, but then a thought suddenly occurred to him – a thought that he hadn't thought about since earlier that morning, when he had first woken up. "Professor?" Harry asked, causing the man to pause in his motion of opening the privacy curtain. "I – I just – can I ask you something, before you go?"

Dumbledore turned back to look at him with a sympathetic light in his eyes, as if he already knew what Harry was going to ask. "Of course, Harry," he replied. "What do you wish to know?"

Nervously, Harry wet his lips, before he asked, "Hermione, is she – is she okay? I meant to ask that earlier, but – "

He never finished his sentence, because in that moment, the sympathetic light in Dumbledore's eyes turned into a sorrowful expression. "Tell me, Harry," he said in a low voice, which Harry knew was not something that the headmaster would normally do _at all_. "Are you, as you just said, 'okay'?" When Harry didn't immediately answer, he nodded, as if expecting this, before saying, "Then, I daresay I think that you have found the answer to your question."

And with that, Professor Dumbledore finished opening the privacy curtain and left, leaving a shell-shocked and speechless Harry in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: TBD (I've been too exhausted to come up with it, I'm afraid lol)


	13. Chapter 12: The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you all had a wonderful past two weeks! Mine were okay. Didn’t really start feeling better until last Thursday or so, but as soon as I did, I wound up cranking out three chapters in two days for this story, so I hope that you all are happy. :)
> 
> Speaking of chapters, though, I should probably let you all know that, while I was on break, I decided to slow down my updating schedule. Five updates per week is really stressful, even when you’re writing only around 3k words per chapter (plus, school starts back up next month, and while my schedule is absolute bliss, I’ll still be dealing with class, studying, homework, etc., etc.). So, after this week’s round of updates, this story will now be updating once per week, and that update will be on Wednesday rather than Tuesday or Thursday. Please don’t hate me for this! An update per week is still faster than what I used to write at (and faster than almost every single story on my favorites/bookmarks list, except for those pesky MCU stories LOL...), so it’s not like I’m slowing down to the point of oblivion lol, nosiree.
> 
> With that being said, though, the Thursday chapter is still on as planned, so you have nothing to fear there...except for all of the BOMBSHELLS that will be in that chapter lmao! ;)
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Monday, 5 September 1994  
_ ** **_Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain_ **

**Despite Professor Dumbledore telling him that both Sirius and Ron – and Neville, of course – wanted to talk with him, Harry did not speak with either of them until the day after his and the headmaster’s conversation.** And even then, the only one of the two that he spoke to was Sirius.

Because while Harry knew that his godfather wanted to talk to him, to comfort him, a large part of Harry did _not_ want to be comforted. The shock that he had felt the previous day had faded into a deep, dwelling despair that he didn’t really want to go away, no matter how irrational that thought was. Because once again, there was just _no way_ that he was going to be able to get to know _eighteen different girls_ all in the same level of intimacy. And there was just no way that he was going to be able to support all of them – and their eventual children – emotionally, physically, or financially. And all of that _terrified_ him, because all he could think about was eighteen angry girls teaming up against him, or all of the money in his vault disappearing before his eyes, or something like that.

But these logistical implications weren’t the only things that were present in his mind, no, because there was also the very real and _unblemished_ fact that it was his _parents_ who had caused this whole situation to happen...and they hadn’t told _anyone_ , or even left him so much as a note, in order to eventually prepare him that this was going to happen. And, for the first time in his life, this made him feel angry and betrayed, especially when, by not telling anyone about what they had done, they had also indirectly doomed him to thirteen years of living with the Dursleys on top of a lifetime of living with eighteen different girls – thirteen years of living in servitude, neglect, and hatred, and all because he was a wizard. Because he simply _existed_.

However, that being said, even if he didn’t want to be comforted about all of this, he still wanted someone to talk to. And while both Ron and Sirius were good candidates for that, the former’s younger sister was still one of his “betrothed”, and Harry knew that that would make any conversation between them for a while awkward, and he didn’t want to deal with that right now.

So, with that being said, Harry got up from his bed – he was still staying in the Hospital Wing, because even though he was healthy, the Minister of Magic had apparently wanted him to remain in an area that was safe and private, but also easily accessible or something like that. Although, Harry quite frankly believed it had more to do with Cornelius Fudge saving his own hide than being actively concerned about Harry’s – and nervously pulled open the privacy curtain. Like yesterday, Auror Tonks was standing on the other side, the shock of her bubblegum-pink hair quite undeniable. “Wotcher, Potter,” she greeted him, just as a small, sympathetic smile spread across her face. “Need to use the loo again?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Uhh...no,” he said. “Actually, I...I was wondering if I could talk to my...to my...”

“To your godfather?” she finished for him in a low voice.

Nervously, Harry nodded.

Tonks’s smile widened. “You can. In fact, I’ll go get him right now,” she said. “Just... _stay here_.”

“O – of course,” Harry replied, then silently added, _I mean, where else would I go? Especially when the_ Minister of Magic _himself wants me to stay here?_

The auror wasn’t a mind-reader or anything like that, though, so she walked away without another word. Harry watched after her for a moment, wishing that he would be allowed to leave the Hospital Wing – or even just his bed for a longer period than for using the loo and showering – so that he could get out his Firebolt and just “fly out” his problems, especially since Quidditch was cancelled for the year and all that.

However, that being said, he only watched after Auror Tonks for a moment, because when he caught a flash of loosely-curled honey blonde hair, pale skin, and a shock of _golden-green_ out of the corner of his eye, all thoughts of his Firebolt and Quidditch vanished. Hurriedly, he stepped back into the area that was surrounded by his privacy curtain, which he quickly closed with a strength that wasn’t really necessary, given their flimsiness. Then, he let out a shaky breath as he ran a hand through his hair, all the while his heart pounded painfully inside his chest.

A few minutes later, Harry had just calmed himself down when the privacy curtain opened, revealing Auror Tonks and Sirius in his dog form. At the sight of his godfather, Harry couldn’t help but let a small smile spread across his face, especially when Sirius let out a happy bark as he trotted towards his godson.

“Right,” Auror Tonks said with a gentle smile. “I’ll just leave you two to it then, I take it?”

Both Harry and Sirius nodded, causing the auror to snort before she closed the privacy curtain from behind her.

Once the privacy curtain was closed, Sirius turned back into his human form and turned to look at Harry, a gentle smile on his face. He looked a lot better than he had a few months ago, as he had put on a few stone – making him look still rather thin, but no longer malnourished to the point of death like before – and there was a nice tan on his skin, which was evidence of the time that he had spent in the Pacific. His hair and beard were also cut much shorter, with his hair going down to just his shoulders and his beard cut into a nice goatee. And he was wearing a set of colorful, floral print robes that Harry figured were from his time in the Pacific as well, given that they were much shorter and more flowing than the ones that English wizards and witches wore.

All in all, while his godfather still did look much more haggard than was befitting of his age, he also looked much better than he had previously, as if his escape from Azkaban was over five or so years ago instead of just one.

“Hey, pup,” Sirius said softly as he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, his grey eyes soft and bright. “How you feeling?”

“...Like shit,” Harry admitted after a few moments, which caused Sirius to snort.

“Yeah, I know how that goes,” he said.

For several long, excruciating moments, neither of them spoke. Sirius seemed content with Harry being the one to speak again first, but Harry...well, he didn’t really know what to _say_. There were a million different things, it seemed, that he wanted to talk about with his godfather, but he didn’t really know where to begin. Did he begin with his parents, and talk about how _angry_ he was at them, for what they did? Or did he begin with his questions about the logistics of being “betrothed” to eighteen different girls, even though he was almost positively certain that nobody could give him advice on that?

Nervously, Harry wet his lips. Then, he opened his mouth to speak, to say something – _anything_.

However, what came out wasn’t really something he had been concerned with.

“Did you know?” he blurted out.

Immediately, Sirius’s eyes widened. He was obviously surprised that that was what Harry asked about first, and his surprise caused Harry’s face to flush in shame. After all, hadn’t Dumbledore told him that Sirius hadn’t known until now? And Dumbledore, while not always right, was usually right about things like this, Harry knew.

“No, I didn’t know,” Sirius replied quietly, causing Harry to blink and suddenly stop in his train of thought, because his godfather’s tone of voice and facial expression had suddenly become serious – no pun intended – and morose. “I mean, I knew that James and Lily were searching for a way to protect you from Voldemort, a way that extended beyond the Fidelius Charm that they were under...but I didn’t know that they had actually _found_ a way...this way. They were secretive like that, you know?”

 _No, I don’t_ , Harry thought silently, but he didn’t say it out loud.

“It didn’t help matters much that I was so concerned about them being found out, either,” Sirius continued as a dark look settled over his face, and Harry knew it was from the indirect mention of Peter Pettigrew, the traitor. “But still, even with how secretive they were...I wish they would’ve told me. I don’t think I would’ve gone after Peter if they had...wouldn’t have left you in Dumbledore’s supposedly capable hands.”

Harry said nothing in response to this – the headmaster had already told him how sorry he was about leaving him with the Dursleys the day before, and he doubted that there was any time-turner capable of sending someone back to a time that was further back than around a day or so, so Sirius’s mention about what he thought he would’ve done if he had known was useless.

“But, that being said, none of us can change the past, no matter how much we want to,” Sirius said, unknowingly voicing Harry’s inner thoughts. “So I won’t bore you with what I wish I could’ve done differently and all that. Instead, I’ll give you some advice...if you want it or need it, that is. And I’ll give you an ear for anything you want to talk about.”

When Harry still didn’t say anything, his godfather let out a sigh and added, “...Or I’ll just sit here rambling uselessly, if you want that, too. Doesn’t matter. Although, you are going to get bored of the sound of my voice eventually...like maybe in five minutes or so, if that.”

In that moment, Harry didn’t really want to laugh. Sure, he had laughed yesterday, but that was before his despair had really set in, back when all that he could feel was disgust and numbed shock. Despite his want not to laugh, though, he still found himself chuckling, causing Sirius to give him a wry grin.

“Thank Merlin,” his godfather said. “I was just starting to think that your laughter was gone for good.”

“I guess not,” Harry replied, before he nervously bit his lip, much like Hermione did in situations like this one. “It’s just...I don’t really know what to _do_ , Sirius. I mean, I know I have to marry all of my – my ‘betrothed’ sometime between now and my seventeenth birthday, but I’ve – well, I – ”

“You’ve never dated a girl?” Sirius finished for him.

Harry nodded as a light flush rushed into his cheeks. “Yeah. And, even if I had dated a girl up until now, I have no idea how to – how to date _so many_ at once...or how to – how to support all of them emotionally, financial, and phys – physically equally. I mean, there’s only so many hours in a day, and my vault only has – ”

At the mention of his vault, Sirius frowned. “Your vault? As in your trust vault?” he asked.

Harry blinked. “What do you mean, ‘trust vault’?” he retorted.

“Well, we are talking about vault...err, shit, I forget the number...vault 600-something?” Sirius replied. When Harry nodded, he added, “That isn’t your actual vault, Harry. That’s your trust vault. Think of it as an allowance for school supplies and fun stuff until you turn seventeen.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “An ‘allowance’?” he repeated, not sure if he had heard his godfather speak correctly. “You mean all of the money in there is just – just an _allowance_?”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, pretty much,” he said. “The Potters are one of the oldest families there is in Britain, just like the Blacks, and the oldest families tend to be insanely wealthy due to interest rates and stuff like that. I’m actually surprised Dumbledore didn’t tell you about that, especially now,” Sirius said this last part with a dark look on his face, “but, no matter. Let’s just say that I doubt that money will ever be a problem for you, even with eighteen wives and the ungodly amount of children you’ll probably have with them. And even if it does become one, my family’s just as wealthy as yours, and I don’t see a better way to use that money than to use it to help you out, both due to you being my godson and the Boy-Who-Lived. Oh, I could just imagine the look on Mother’s face at the prospect if she was still alive...”

A strange look came over Sirius’s face then, a look that seemed to be a mixture of glee and vengeance. It was only there for a moment, though, because then his godfather coughed and cleared his throat as a more serious – no pun intended – look settled on his face again. “As for the emotional and – err – _physical_ aspect of supporting your brides-to-be, though, I’m not sure what to tell you, Harry,” he said. “I mean, I had my fair share of flings back when I was in Hogwarts, but I was never with more than one girl at a time...at least, I don’t think so. My seventh year’s New Year’s celebration is always kind of fuzzy...” he trailed off with a thoughtful look in his eyes, before he blinked and coughed again. “ _Anyways_ , my best advice is probably this:

“Firstly, when everything is said and done, make a schedule that _you_ _all_ agree on, and not just a schedule that _they_ agree on. Because although they are all sharing you, you are just important in this relationship as they are, and don’t let _anyone_ ever tell you otherwise. Seriously. Don’t.

“Secondly, don’t go to bed angry at any of them. It’s not healthy for you, and it’s not healthy for them – especially if you’re going to bed that night with a different wife. Try to work out your problems before you go to bed. And, if you can’t do that, then try to end the argument on at least cordial terms. Because if you don’t, then you could very well wind up holding a grudge, and those are never good for relationships of _any_ kind. Believe me, I know.”

“And finally, _be honest_. Not just about your problems and feelings, but about yourself, as well. I...” Sirius paused, a sheepish look passing over his face, before he said, “One of my problems with many of my – err, _relationships_ was that I was never completely honest with any of them. And not just about what I was thinking or feeling, either, but about _me_. I put on a bit of a show for everyone back then, and I thought that that was the person that many of my girlfriends at the time wanted to be with. But, spoiler alert: it wasn’t. They wanted to know the _real_ me, wanted me to be honest about who I was. So, be honest. In everything that you do with them, whether they like it or not, and regardless if they’re hormonal or not.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully as he did his best to commit his godfather’s advice to memory. It seemed like good advice, and he figured it would be a waste to not try it at least once...maybe even before he was married to all of them.

...After all, in order to get married to all of these girls, he _was_ going to have to get to know them, right? Or, at least, he figured that he would be expected to by most – if not all – of the girls and their families.

“One more thing, Harry,” Sirius said, causing Harry to blink.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Have you given any thought about where you and your wives will live, during the summer when you are not at Hogwarts? And after all of you have graduated?”

Harry blinked again. “No.”

Sirius sighed. “Well, you should,” he said. “Although you can’t access your main vault until you turn seventeen, Dumbledore can, as your magical guardian. And I’m _sure_ he will be willing to help you purchase a house or build one, if you decide to go that route, because otherwise...”

The silent threat hung in the air.

Sirius shook his head. “Anyways, it’s probably best if you buy or build a house to accommodate all of you, because while you do own the main Potter family house in Wales and your parents’ place in Godric’s Hollow, the former has been in a state of disrepair ever since your grandparents died and the latter is too small and is technically on permanent loan to the Ministry of Magic.”

“‘Permanent loan’?” Harry echoed.

Sirius nodded. “It’s...well, they view it as a symbol of the War, or something like that. Nobody except you or your family can step onto the property, but people like to visit it...especially around Halloween, Christmas, and Easter.”

“Oh,” Harry said, not sure of what else to say – mainly because he had never really considered where his parents had lived before, just like he had never really considered that they may have had more than one house.

For several, long moments, neither of them said anything, but then Sirius sighed again. “Look, Harry,” he said. “I realize that you’re probably feeling overwhelmed because of all of this. I also realize that you’re also probably dealing with some resentment towards your parents because of it, and while I’m not going to tell you that that’s wrong – because honestly, I’m dealing with some similar thoughts about them myself – I am going to tell you that, despite everything, your parents _loved you_. And I’m sure that they would’ve wanted to be with you here right now, helping you and reassuring you the best that they could.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry muttered under his breath as he turned to look away.

“They would’ve,” Sirius insisted with a firm voice. “I know that they would’ve. However...since they _aren’t_ here, I’m going to do everything in my power to help you, Harry. I promise. And I know that the same goes for Remus, even if he can’t be here right now. So...we’re here for you, okay?”

Harry turned back to look at Sirius. His godfather’s sympathetic smile had returned, and his grey eyes were still soft and bright. He looked so honest, so willing, and so _sure_ of himself and Remus, of the two of them wanting to help him, that Harry couldn’t help but give him a small smile in return.

“Okay,” he said softly, as he suddenly began to feel like things weren’t as hopeless and dreary as he had previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: The Meeting Pt. 1 (yes, you’re all getting another split chapter. Deal with it.)
> 
> P.S.: Just realized I forgot the weekly stats, so here you go. As of Sunday, this story has 23k views, 171 favorites, and 285 follows on FFN. On AO3, it has 6k views, 28 bookmarks, and 69 people have left kudos. So, this story is still going strong!...or, at least, it is in my eyes ha ha! ;)


	14. Chapter 13: The Meeting Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Today’s chapter has a lengthy Ending Notes section to explain a few things about this chapter, so I won’t bore you too much up here. I just wanted to stop in and say something important that I forgot to mention at the beginning of last chapter: this chapter and the next chapter are probably two of the angstiest chapters in the entire story due to what is revealed in them. Seriously. Child marriage (because they’re all fifteen or younger) is no joke. However, that being said, if you can survive these two chapters as readers (especially the second one, which is undoubtedly more angsty than this one), I am sure that you will be able to survive the rest of the story. So, buckle up, buttercups. ;)
> 
> Next chapter will be posted next Wednesday. Remember, after this week, there will only be one update per week, so don’t freak out when the next one doesn’t come until the Wednesday after that. :P
> 
> Until then,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Wednesday, 6 September 1994  
_ ** **_Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain_ **

**Harry sat on his bed in the Hospital Wing, nervously wringing his hands as he stared at the privacy curtain, waiting for Auror Tonks to open it and tell him to follow her to wherever he, his “betrothed”, their families, and Professor Dumbledore would be meeting.** It was only ten minutes or so until noon, ten minutes or so until he met the eighteen different girls for the very first time since all of this started, and along with his wringing hands, his heart was pounding in his chest and he had the distinct sensation of chills running all over his body.

Why had he agreed to meeting his “betrothed” and their families today? Sure, Dumbledore had said that it was the best time to have it, but he couldn’t help but feel so... _unprepared_. He’d only been awake for four days, after all, during which he had only talked to Professor Dumbledore, Sirius, and Auror Tonks. And while each of them made him feel secure about this meeting and the situation as a whole in their own, certain ways, he couldn’t help but feel like he still needed more reassuring that everything was going to turn out fine...that everything was _already_ fine. And the only two people that he really wanted to hear that from were Hermione and Ron.

But, of course, Hermione was one of his “betrothed” and thus affected by all of this as much as he was, so he really couldn’t speak with her about it. And as for Ron...well, as much as he knew that his friend wasn’t mad at him and wanted to talk to him, Harry couldn’t help but think that the opposite was true. After all, he was “betrothed” to Ron’s _little sister_ , and while his best friend had never shown any inclination of being overly protective of her before – their second year serving as proof of this – that didn’t meant that he wouldn’t be overly protective of her now, considering that she was fated to have to marry him at a young age and all that.

Before he could go start thinking too deeply on that train of thought once again, the privacy curtain opened, causing Harry to stand up in surprise. Auror Tonks – who was now sporting a light purple-colored bob, which as he had found out yesterday, was explained by her being a metamorphmagus – snorted at his behavior. “Wotcher, Potter,” she said. “You ready?”

“Not really, no,” Harry admitted as he walked out from the privacy curtain. “Why? Should I be?”

Tonks shook her head. “No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “Because I doubt anyone would be.”

With that being said, the two of them made their way out of the Hospital Wing. Over the past few days when he had been allowed outside of his privacy curtain in order to use the loo or take a shower and the like, the privacy curtain on every single one of the beds had been pulled shut, making it so that it was impossible for him to see any of his “betrothed”. However, now that they were all gone for the meeting – and presumably, the rest of term, provided that they didn’t get sick or something like that – the curtains were gone, revealing every single one of the beds. It was a strange look, given that he had been accustomed to the opposite for the past few days, and he couldn’t help but stare at each one of the beds as he and Tonks walked out of the infirmary...although he did take a moment to stop and thank Madam Pomfrey, who had been fluffing up pillows, to let him stay in the Hospital Wing once again, considering that there was nothing physically wrong with him.

In response, the matron had snorted and said, “Think nothing of it, Mr. Potter. I’m sure that you will be back in here again due to some sort of injury sometime soon, anyways. And if not that...”

She didn’t finish her sentence.

Once they left the Hospital Wing, Harry and Tonks made their way through the castle, which was rather full of students, given the fact that the headmaster had apparently decided to cancel classes for all of the students until sometime next week. All of the students that they passed stopped and turned to ogle at Harry, making him feel like he had in second year all over again, when many of the students had assumed him to be the heir of Slytherin. This feeling was only made worse when several of them glared at him, keen hatred in their eyes, and when a Hufflepuff first year looked at him and shrieked before she ran away.

“Oh, what I _wouldn’t_ give to come back to Hogwarts again as a student,” Tonks muttered under her breath after the Hufflepuff student had ran away.

Harry couldn’t help but snort in response.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of having to walk and endure the vicious stares of his classmates, Harry and Tonks came to a stop in front of a wooden door. “Well, this is it,” the auror said.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, before saying, “Yeah, this is it.”

The auror turned to look at him, her dark brown eyes soft. “Hey,” she said. “I know we haven’t really spoken that much over the past few days, but after having guarded you for so long, I think I can safely say that you are a fairly nice bloke who didn’t deserve any of this...not that _anybody_ does, of course, but still, my point stands. So...” the auror took in a deep breath. “Don’t freak out in there, okay? Be calm. Listen to what your girls and their families have to say...but don’t be afraid to speak your mind, either. And I’m sure that, if you do that, everything will turn out okay, okay?”

“...Okay,” Harry replied after a few moments.

Tonks smiled. “Good,” she said. “Guess I’ll see you around then, Potter.”

“Yeah. See you around,” Harry echoed, just as the auror turned and walked away.

Once Tonks was out of sight, Harry took in a deep breath of his own and turned to look at the door. He could do this, he knew he could. He was a Gryffindor, after all, and Gryffindors were known for their courage, for their bravery.

So, with that thought in mind, he nervously pulled on the handle of the door and opened it, before quickly stepping inside.

~~~

“Ah, there you are, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted him as he stepped inside the room. “Just on time for our meeting.”

Inside the room – which was much larger than he was expecting it to be – were two, very long tables that looked as if they had originally belonged in the Great Hall. They were pushed together horizontally instead of vertically, but even so, there was still plenty of space for everyone to sit comfortably, regardless if they sat at the head of the table like Dumbledore or on the sides like everyone else.

Speaking of everyone else, Harry felt his eyes roam over them as he nervously wet his lips, even though his mouth felt as dry as aged parchment. He first looked at a girl that he vaguely recognized as Sophie Roper, who was a girl with straight brown hair and bright blue eyes, sitting in between two people that were obviously her parents. Then, he looked at the two girls who were sitting next to her, Isobel and Morag MacDougal, who were the third pair of twins in his year. Both of them had loosely-curled dark brown hair and sharp grey eyes, the former of which they had seemingly inherited from their father, and the latter which they had most definitely inherited from their mother.

After that, his eyes raked over the others, taking in their forms and their family members. Susan Bones was sitting with a man with the same auburn hair as hers – her father, presumably – along with two blonde women, the younger of which pretty much looked like a feminine spitting image of her father. Luna Lovegood was sitting with her father, who had long, pale blonde hair that was just as straggly as hers, and a similar set of wide, grey eyes. Sally-Anne Perks, whose ashen face was even paler than usual, was sitting with a young woman that was clearly her mother, while the girl he vaguely recognized as Gabrielle Delacour was sitting with an olive-skinned, dark-haired man that he figured was probably her father, even if the two of them didn’t look really alike.

Momentarily, his eyes came to a rest on the girl that had to be Justin – _Justine_ – Finch-Fletchley, as she was the only girl that he really didn’t recognize. Her face was much softer than it had been when she had looked like a boy, and her black hair was longer and put up into a ponytail. But, even though she was sitting down, he could tell that she was still the same height that she had been before, which was most definitely a few inches taller than him. The realization caused him to blink in surprise, as did the realization that she was _most definitely_ looking at him with a look of pure _loathing_ , as were her parents from on either side of her.

At that, realization, Harry looked away. His eyes found Ginny Weasley, who was just as pale as Sally-Anne was. She wasn’t looking at him, surprisingly, but both her mother and father were – or, at least, they _seemed_ to be, because Harry was pretty sure that Mr. Weasley’s gaze was too blank for him to actually be looking at him. Mrs. Weasley’s wasn’t, though, and when their eyes locked, she gave him a small, watery smile before she directed him to look at someone else with her head, to look at –

– _Hermione_.

Harry’s eyes widened upon seeing her. Although all of the other girls had looked depressed or subdued, Hermione looked absolutely _awful_. Her face was pale and perfectly blank, which caused Harry to blink in shock. There were also deep, dark bruises underneath her eyes, making it obvious that she hadn’t slept in days, and a firm hand was placed over her neck – placed over the shock of golden-green magic-turned-metal that Harry had been ignoring on all of the other girls’ necks up until this point.

On either side of Hermione, her parents sat, and both looked almost as miserable as their daughter. Mr. Granger in particular looked the worse for wear, although his wife, Mrs. Granger, looked pretty tired and strung-out as well.

The sound of Professor Dumbledore clearing his throat caused Harry to blink and look at the headmaster, who was giving him an apologetic smile. “Please, Harry,” Dumbledore said as he gestured to the head of the table that was opposite of him. “Sit.”

Harry sat.

“Now that we are all here,” Dumbledore began, “I believe that we should all introduce ourselves. As all of you already know, I am Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of this school, and the mediator for this discussion.”

Once he had finished, Dumbledore looked expectantly at Harry.

“Err – ” Harry said, only to shift uncomfortably when everyone suddenly looked at him. “I’m Harry...Harry Potter. But...you all probably knew that, right?”

No one answered him, although Mr. Lovegood let out a soft chuckle at his words.

After that, everyone introduced themselves. Harry did his best to try to memorize each of the parents’ names – _Luna’s father’s name is Xenophilius Lovegood, Sally-Anne’s mother’s name is Angela, Lily’s parents’ names are_ – but it was rather hard to do, considering that there were _twenty-five_ of them. And that wasn’t included Susan’s aunt, Amelia Bones, who was apparently very close to the auburn-haired girl and kept on looking at him sharply when she apparently thought that he wasn’t looking.

“Well, now that we have all introduced ourselves,” Dumbledore said, “The meeting can properly begin. As a gentle reminder to all of you, this meeting is not about placing blame or fault on Harry or his parents for what has happened. Rather, this meeting is about all of you getting to know one another, and about discussing everything that must be discussed, given that Harry must marry all of his bonded by his seventeenth birthday.

“Now, that being said, do any of you have anything that you would like to immediately discuss?”

For a moment, no one spoke.

But then, from around the middle of the table, the man that had introduced himself as Daphne and Astoria Greengrass’ father – Castor Greengrass was his name, if Harry remembered correctly – cleared his throat and said, “I am curious about how all of this is supposed to work while the children are at school. After all, it is usually tradition for those in an arranged marriage while still in school to live in a set of rooms away from the House dormitories that are charmed to prevent any... _dishonorable_ actions from occurring. In fact, my wife and I lived in such a set of rooms for the entirety of our Hogwarts education.”

From the other side of their daughters, Mrs. Greengrass, whose name was Lenora, nodded in agreement, as did Mr. and Mrs. MacDougal and Mr. Runcorn, who Harry couldn’t help but notice looked nothing like his daughter.

“Well,” the headmaster began, “We can certainly do that, Lord Greengrass – ” here, Harry frowned. _Lord_ Greengrass? “ – if that is what you and your wife wish for your daughters. The same goes for the rest of you as well.”

“What about children?” Susan Bones’s father, Albert Bones, asked.

Next to him, his sister, Amelia Bones, frowned. “Albertus – ” she said warningly.

But Mr. Bones only shook his head. “No, it’s a serious question,” he said. “Once Mr. Potter is married, there will be an expectation of children from him, because he is the last of his line. And even if that wasn’t the case, we all know how teenagers are with contraception. So, I want to know about what would happen if our daughter, or any of your daughters, would become pregnant while they are still in school.”

 _Children? Having_ children _while I’m still in school?_ Harry thought. What a ridiculous thought! After all, even if he was rich, he was still only _fourteen_ , and he didn’t even have a place to go to yet for the summer after this school year!

Yet, while he considered to be the idea almost hysterical, Dumbledore did not. In fact, the headmaster actually _nodded his head in agreement_ before stating, “If that is to happen, we can accommodate for it. Mr. Potter and the wife, or wives, in question would not be the first teenage parents at this school, regardless of married status. In fact, in the initial years of this school’s existence _most_ magically-raised students were married and had at least one child by their final year at Hogwarts.”

Albert Bones nodded at the headmaster’s words, and pointedly ignored the glare that his sister was still giving him and his daughter’s horribly blushing face.

The conversation didn’t get much better from there. Various questions that made Harry really wish he was anywhere else were asked by his “betrothed”’s parents, ranging from how much money had – “I’m afraid I don’t have the current numbers, but I believe Harry’s main vault has around ten million galleons,” Dumbledore said, which caused some of the parents to nod in acceptance and the others to stare at him as if he had grown a second head – to whether or not he had a house – which Harry answered himself by basically repeating what Sirius had told him two days prior, which caused Castor Greengrass, Albert Runcorn, Kentigern MacDougal, and Jean-Claude Delacour to all look at him appraisingly.

Finally, though, two questions in particular were asked, and they made Harry _really_ uncomfortable. The first was asked by Albert Runcorn, and was about “how soon could Harry marry my daughter”...which, _okay_ , wasn’t an unexpected question, but it still made Harry shift nervously in his seat, especially when he accidentally locked eyes with Diana Runcorn, who gave him a pleasant smile in response.

Dumbledore had much of a similar reaction, even if he wasn’t being stared at by one of his own eventual bonded. “That choice is ultimately up to Harry,” he said. “But, that being said, I have pondered this question quite a bit, and I firmly believe that both Harry and his bonded should have some time to – ah – _cope_ with what has happened to them before any weddings occur.”

“And just how long should this time be?” Runcorn asked in response.

The headmaster sighed. “At least one month,” he said. “Although I sincerely believe it should be much longer than that.”

Runcorn looked displeased at this news, as did Castor Greengrass, Albert Bones, and Tracey Davis’s mother, Cressida Davis. In fact, Cressida Davis seemed to be so displeased that she actually spoke up and said, “Albus, while I respect your opinion on this matter, I _firmly believe_ that Mr. Potter should be marrying our girls sooner rather than later. In fact, I see no reason why a wedding cannot occur at the end of next month.”

All around the table, the parents of the other girls – and some of the girls themselves, even – spluttered. Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked horrified at the prospect, as did Mr. and Mrs. Finnegan, Mr. Fletchley and Mrs. Finch-Fletchley, and Sally-Anne’s mother, Angela.

“ _One month_?” Mrs. Weasley cried out. “Surely you can’t be serious!”

Cressida Davis gave the other woman a calculated look. “Actually, I am,” she said. “I realize, Mrs. Weasley, that you and your husband grew up in families that did not exactly... _believe_ in the traditional ways. However, I did, as did Castor and Lenora Greengrass and Albert Runcorn.” Here, both the Greengrass parents and Mr. Runcorn nodded in agreement. “And I know that, while the ritual that caused all of this to happen may be ancient, it is still a _ritual_. And rituals have side effects...very _unwanted_ side effects. Just look at the Unbreakable Vow for an example of those effects.”

From around the table, several of the parents begrudgingly nodded in agreement with her – Albert Bones and his wife, the MacDougals, Jean-Claude Delacour, etc. Mrs. Weasley looked at all of them with a gaping mouth, and Harry found himself having quite a similar reaction, because _Merlin, am I really going to get married in less than two months?_

“Well, then,” Dumbledore said as he looked at Cressida Davis, a frown on his face. “What do you propose, Mrs. Davis?”

“Assuming that the sentient magic of this ritual works in a similar fashion as the sentient magic in the Unbreakable Vow does,” Cressida Davis replied, “The sooner that Mr. Potter is married to all of his bonded, the better. However, in the interests of preserving the traditional courtship rules and the relationships between him and our girls, I daresay that he will not be getting married to all of them at once next month. Rather, I think it best that he get married to one girl at the end of each month – the Sabbat of each month, to be exact, which would mean that he would be married to all of the girls within eighteen months, and not have to worry about any side effects that would occur by marrying them all towards the end of the thirty-six months that we technically have.”

Dumbledore stared at her. “You’ve given this a lot of thought,” he remarked.

Cressida Davis dipped her head. “That I have,” she said. “But mainly because I am unwilling to let my daughter, Mr. Potter, or any of these girls suffer needlessly because we were arrogant enough to assume there would be no repercussions for the presumed dragging-out of the weddings that we would be doing.”

The witch paused to turn and look at her daughter and her husband. None of them spoke, but obviously something was discussed by the way that both Tracey – who was a beautiful girl with brown hair and dark green eyes – and her father, Trolius, dipped their heads.

Cressida turned back to look at the rest of the group. “Since I am asking a lot of everyone here, and not just myself or my own family,” she said. “I believe that we should have a vote for all those that approve of this idea.”

“Very well,” Professor Dumbledore replied. “To all those in favor – yes, including you, Madam Bones – please raise a hand so that we can count your votes.”

From all around the table, hands rose. All three of the Davises rose their hands, as did all four of the Greengrasses, both of the Runcorns, and the hands of Albert Bones and his wife. Xenophilius and Luna Lovegood rose their hands as well, as did Kentigern MacDougal, Lily Moon’s parents Alder and Anemone, and Katie’s mother Llinos (something which her father, Robert, didn’t look too happy about). Jean-Claude Delacour raised two hands, and when asked, stated that he was raising a hand for his wife as well, who unfortunately couldn’t attend the meeting due to “veela colony business”. Upon seeing how Luna had voted, Sophie Roper raised her hand as well (much to the shock of her parents), and the same was true for Gabrielle Delacour, Lily Moon, and the MacDougal twins when they had seen how their parents had voted.

It was a tie, Harry realized, if he counted Amelia Bones’s vote and not Professor Dumbledore’s, who he figured was probably staying neutral in these matters, since he had asked for the vote and all that. A tie. Which meant that there would either have to be a tiebreaker, or that Cressida Davis and all of the parents and girls that voted with her would have to accept...

“ _Ginny_!” Mrs. Weasley suddenly exclaimed.

Everyone turned to look at her – no, not at her, at _Ginny_. The thirteen-year-old girl was defiantly raising her hand, even though both of her parents were giving her pleading looks to take it down again. “Mrs. Davis knows what she’s talking about, Mum,” Ginny said as her face flushed. “She does. And since she does, I think we should follow her advice.”

Cressida Davis looked at the redheaded girl with an approving smile...or was it a _smirk_?

At the other end of the table, Professor Dumbledore let out a sigh. “Well, as I have often said during a session of the Wizengamot, the ayes have it,” he said. “Though, once again, I must express my disapproval at this idea.”

“Your disapproval is noted, Albus,” Castor Greengrass said, with a tone that made it clear he was disapproving of the headmaster’s disapproval.

“Since we have the majority of the votes,” Cressida Davis said, “I think it best that we go through with my plan. Mr. Potter will marry his first wife on October 29th, which is the last Sabbat of that month. Now, that being said...”

And here was the second question that made Harry feel really uncomfortable – or, at least, _more_ uncomfortable than he already was, because frankly, he felt like he was about to be sick...

“...Who will be his first wife?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: The Meeting Pt. 2
> 
> Ending Notes: A few notes here, for this chapter. First, while Sabbat usually refers to neopagan holidays and Sabbath refers to the “day of rest” in Judaism and Christianity, I decided that Sabbat was probably a better term to use for Saturday, and a more “traditional” one for the traditional families. That being said, though, these families aren’t Christian or Jewish, per se, although they have taken some of those traditions (like the Sabbath) and made them their own. Hope that makes sense lol.
> 
> As for Cressida...1) yes her and her husband’s names are taken from the Shakespeare play Troilus and Cressida (I ran out of creativity for the in-laws’ names by the time I got to them) and 2) no, she isn’t a villain or trying to take Harry’s money. No. That trope is not going to happen at all in this story, cause I hate it, especially when it’s used with Molly. Rather, think of Cressida like this: both Molly Weasley and Cressida Davis are fiercely protective of their children and want the best for them, they just have different ways of going about it. This does not make either of them bad people, just more of opposite sides of the same coin. (I hope this also makes sense lol!)
> 
> Once again, I hope that you all are staying safe and well. Next chapter will be uploaded on Wednesday.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> TGWSI/Selene Borealis


	15. Chapter 14: The Meeting Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Sorry for the late update today – I was busy with some personal stuff, and was only able to get around to posting now. Hope you all can forgive for that lol.
> 
> As stated before, this chapter is one of the angstiest chapters in the entire story, meaning that if you can get through this, you will be able to get through the rest of this story (the sequels, if we get there, will be another story...but those are a long ways off). Because of this, I’ve tried my best to get all of the characters’ reactions down to point, but they may seem...off, especially because while Harry is good at telling people’s emotions, he’s still a little stunted in that area of expertise (as all teenagers are). So, if you’re thinking at some point, “X wouldn’t act like that!”, remember that we’re seeing this through the eyes of a 14-year-old boy who is still in shock, and will remain in shock until the next chapter. (That, and everyone’s kinda numb at this point, and the shell-shock isn’t gonna end for some time.)
> 
> Okay, all that being said, once again I hope that you all enjoy this chapter, and I will see you all next week!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Wednesday, 6 September 1994  
_ ** **_Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain_ **

**Harry felt like he was going to be sick.**

Somehow, despite Dumbledore telling him that some of his “betrothed”’s families might want him to marry their daughters early, it had never occurred to him that the _majority_ of them would – or that they would want him to marry them as soon as _October 29th_ at that. He had pretty much figured that Dumbledore had been preparing him for the worst when the headmaster had told him that some of the families might want him married within the next month, but that it was such an unlikely scenario that it probably wouldn’t have happened.

Yet, here the families of his “betrothed” were, proving him wrong.

Desperately, Harry wanted to protest what Cressida Davis had apparently decided had already been decided, remembering Sirius’s advice of “not being afraid to speak his mind”. However, he was also absolutely terrified in that moment that, if he opened his mouth, he would wind up being violently sick all over the table, and that was something that he most definitely did _not_ want his future in-laws or wives to see.

Besides, just at the moment that he was about to protest, Luna Lovegood suddenly said, “Don’t you know that the first wife is already chosen?”

At once, everyone turned to look at her.

Dumbledore frowned. “What do you mean, Ms. Lovegood?” he asked.

Luna turned and gave him a dreamy smile, which was accompanied by a slightly distracted stare. “The first wife is already chosen,” she repeated. “And she was chosen long before the Welcoming Feast. In fact, I believe that the precise date that she was chosen was May 23rd, 1993, although I didn’t see her for a few days before or after that, so I can’t really say for sure.”

 _May 23rd, 1993?_ Harry thought with a frown. _Why that precise –_

“No!” Mrs. Weasley suddenly shouted.

Harry turned to look at her. The Weasley matriarch was apparently so furious that she had unconsciously stood up from her seat, her hands smacking the table as she stood up. Her face was pale, _bone pale_ , but it quickly reddened to a color that Harry had only previously seen on his uncle’s face.

On the other side of Ginny, Mr. Weasley stared at his wife in a mixture of shock, helplessness, and _grief_ , as if he had just heard the worst news of his life.

Harry didn’t understand.

From his spot next to Luna, Xenophilius Lovegood cleared his throat before saying, “Molly – ”

“No!” Mrs. Weasley repeated. “I will not – I repeat, _I will not_ – let my daughter be married off at thirteen years old! I refuse to! I absolutely refuse it!”

Harry blinked. Wait... _Ginny_ was supposed to be his first wife? What? Why? Like Mrs. Weasley said, she was _only thirteen years old_! Not that him being married off at fourteen was much better...but several of his other “betrothed” were a year older than the Weasley girl _at least_. And both Katie Bell and Léan Finnegan were a year older than those “betrothed”! Surely they were the better candidates, even if he didn’t really want to marry any of them by October 29th!

“You can’t refuse it,” Luna replied calmly, and in a tone that made it seem like she was the adult and Mrs. Weasley was the child, rather than the vice versa. “Because Mabon himself decided it when Harry saved Ginny’s life, and to go against Mabon would be a very unwise thing to do.”

Mrs. Weasley spluttered in response, her rage so intense that it prevented her from properly forming words.

At Luna’s words, though, Cressida Davis frowned and leaned forward in her seat. “Mr. Potter saved Ms. Weasley’s life?” she asked.

Luna nodded enthusiastically in response. “Oh, yes,” she said. “It’s not my story to tell, but I will say that it’s a _very_ romantic story involving the Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk that used to reside there.” Here, several of the parents mouthed or muttered “basilisk” under their breaths as they turned to look at Dumbledore with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Cressida Davis wasn’t swayed by the mention of the basilisk, though. If anything, her frown deepened, and she turned to look at Dumbledore. “Is this girl right?” she asked. “Did Mr. Potter truly save Ms. Weasley’s life?”

Professor Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, he did,” he admitted.

An expression of outrage formed on the woman’s face. “And you didn’t think to mention this?” she asked. “My God, Albus, this changes _everything_!”

“How so?” a new voice asked.

Everyone turned. Conleth Finnegan, the stepfather of Léan, was looking at all of them with an expression of confusion on his face, as were Marcus Fletchley and Allison Finch-Fletchley, David and Mary Roper, Angela Perks, and John and Calliope Granger. “Look,” Conleth said. “I’m a ‘muggle’, so your cultural traditions are a bit lost on me, but why does Harry saving this girl’s life change everything? I mean, she’s only thirteen, isn’t she? Isn’t that too young to get married, period?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Castor Greengrass replied. “In our society, witches as young as thirteen and wizards as young as fourteen can get married. And even if that weren’t the case...”

“The life debt changes everything,” Cressida Davis finished. “You see, Mr. Finnegan, because of our magic, saving somebody’s life is _never_ just saving somebody’s life. Because when a wizard saves the life of another witch or wizard, that witch or wizard’s magic forms a...a _bond_ with the wizard. It makes them _owe_ them something in return. It makes a debt. Now, usually, that debt can be repaid in the form of money, or property, or something else of the like, but...” Tracey’s mother suddenly looked at a loss for words, the explanation obviously troubling her on some deeper level.

Xenophilius Lovegood took this as the sign for him to step into the conversation. “But, that being said, the debt can also be repaid in the form of marriage,” he finished. “And, in the eyes of our magic, that marriage is ‘deeper’ than any other marriage, because it has precedence over any others that the wizard may have...which also means that it takes precedence over all of Mr. Potter’s other future marriages. And, since it takes precedence, it has to occur first, regardless if Mr. Potter wants her to be the first wife or not.”

John Granger’s face twisted. “That’s _barbaric_!” he exclaimed, which was also the first time that he spoken during the entire since he and his wife had introduced themselves.

On the other side of Hermione, his wife nodded in agreement, her face ashen.

Harry, knowing how his female best friend was, expected her to nod along with her mother, but she didn’t. In fact, he wasn’t even sure that his best friend was actually _listening_ to what was going on, because she was still in the exact same position that she had been in before, with her hand still on the same exact position on her neck that it had been earlier. It was...it was almost like she had been _petrified_ again, like she had been in second year, and that thought sent an icy chill down his spine.

He wasn’t able to focus on that for long, though, because at Hermione’s father’s words, Albert Runcorn’s face suddenly reddened. However, before he could say anything, Lily’s father, Alder Hargrave, cut in and said, “To you, it is. But to us, this is how the laws of both our society and our _magic_ work. And these laws are just as binding as the Unbreakable Vow, which if broken, results in the loss of the oath-breaker’s magic and/or their life.”

“So to go against this precedent would be sacrilegious,” his wife, Anemone Moon, added, before she turned to look at Mrs. Weasley with a look of upmost sympathy. “Which is also why you know you have to allow this, Lady Weasley. Believe me, I know how hard it will be, but you do not want to risk your life – or your husband and daughter’s lives – by preventing the precedent, do you?”

Mrs. Weasley’s form visibly trembled, and her reddened face turned back into the color of bone. “No...I don’t,” she said as she sat – well, more like all but _fell_ – back down in her seat.

Anemone Moon nodded. “I thought not,” she said delicately.

Suddenly, Mr. Weasley, who had still been staring at his wife, turned to look at Dumbledore. “But...if Ginny gets married...” he said. “She’ll have to...”

Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

Mr. Weasley buried his head in his hands, while Mrs. Weasley let out a choked sob.

Nobody said anything for several moments.

“Papa?” Gabrielle Delacour asked her father, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Pourqoui est-ce qu’ils sont tristes?”

Jean-Claude Delacour suddenly flushed. “Err...” he said, before he leaned down and responded to his daughter in low, rapid French.

To be honest, Harry didn’t instantly realize why Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were so distraught, either...or, at least, not what they were specifically distraught about now. In fact, it wasn’t until he heard Mr. Delacour say something about “consomnent” that he realized why they were so distraught. Because “consomnent”sounded a _lot_ like consummate, which was a formal way of saying...

“You mean...I’ll have to have sex with Ginny?” Harry asked – well, more like blurted out, actually.

Of course, as soon as he did, though, he felt rather stupid about it. After all, marriage and sex went hand-in-hand together, didn’t they? And “age of consent” didn’t usually mean the age to “consent” to marriage, it meant the age to “consent” to _sex_. But the idea of having sex with Ginny by October 29th, when she was only thirteen and he was only fourteen...well, it was almost enough to make him physically ill once again...

From her place between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny suddenly flushed – apparently, she was only just realizing what them having to be married so soon meant. “But I’m only thirteen!” she protested not a moment later.

Anemone Moon and Cressida Davis shared a look, as did most of the women from around the table.

Amelia Bones uncomfortably cleared her throat. “As previously discussed,” she said, “the age of consent in our world _is_ thirteen...”

“But I’m not ready for sex!” Ginny cried. She looked to be on the verge of tears. “I’m only thirteen! Mum said a witch wasn’t ready for sex until she’s – until she’s – until she’s sixteen! At least! Regardless of the age of consent! She told me that that’s just all for show!”

“Ginny...” Mr. Weasley said quietly, his face morose.

But his daughter didn’t listen to him. Instead, she jumped out of her seat, much like her mother had earlier, and ran out of the room. Her chair clattered with a dull _thud_ behind her.

“Oh, dear...” Stella Bones, Susan’s mother, said quietly as she took what looked to be a kerchief from out of one of her robes’s pockets.

Mrs. Weasley only sobbed harder.

Luna suddenly stood up from her seat as well. “Ginny needs me more than I am needed here,” she announced to the room, before she left, too.

After she had left, Marcus Fletchley – a tall man with his daughter’s black hair and a distinctive pair of grey eyes – snorted. “I knew we shouldn’t have let Justin – _Justine_ come here,” he told his wife, Allison Finch-Fletchley, not-so-quietly.

Albert Runcorn stood up from his seat, his face even redder than before.

Dumbledore sighed and stroked his beard. “Please, Lord Runcorn,” he said. “Give it a rest.”

Diana Runcorn nodded in agreement. “Yes, please, Dad,” she said softly.

Mr. Runcorn, who had looked all-too-willing to ignore the headmaster’s request, suddenly froze at his daughter’s words, before he turned and gave her a look. When she gave him of her own in return, he sighed and sat down, before muttering, “I apologize for my outburst, Mr. Fletchley.”

Marcus Fletchley only gave him a scowl in response.

“...Well,” Cressida Selwyn said after a few moments. “Now that we’ve...well, now that we’ve gotten _that_ out of the way, is there anything else that we need to discuss? Last of line agreements or something like that?”

Harry frowned. “‘Last of line agreements’?” he asked. “What are those?”

Cressida Davis, Albert Runcorn, Castor and Lenora Greengrass, Albert and Stella Bones, Kentigern and Beitris MacDougald, and Alder Hargrave and Anemone Moon all gave him blank looks in response, as did their children. “You don’t know what a last of line agreement is?” Castor Greengrass looked.

Harry shook his head. “No. Should I?”

The Greengrass father turned to look at Dumbledore first, giving the headmaster a not-so-subtle glare, before he turned back to look at Harry and stated, “In our society, Mr. Potter, the Wizengamot is like the muggle House of Lords. There are 100 families that have seats on the Wizengamot, such as my own, and each of these families possesses a number of votes depending on their status. For example, my family possesses two votes, while the Moon family possesses three. Your family possesses five.

“However, in order to vote, the person voting for your family must be of your family...they must possess your last name. Which is why one of my daughters,” here, he gestured to Daphne and Astoria, who both flushed when he did so, “preferably Daphne, since she is the oldest, must keep her maiden name when she marries you, and give that name to your children. The same goes for Ms. Runcorn, Ms. Bones, and Ms. Lovegood as well.”

The parents of the girls mentioned all nodded their heads in agreement.

“Oh,” Harry said, not really sure what to think about that, but also desperate enough to think about almost _anything_ else besides the fact he was going to have to consummate his marriage with Ginny...and by extension, the rest of the girls.

Of course, though, now that he got to thinking about it, if he was going to have _thirteen_ other wives, so it wasn’t like the last names of five of them or their children were going to be a problem. However, that being said, _no one_ had told him that the Wizengamot basically functioned as the House of Lords – a comparison that he was admittedly rather surprised that Castor Greengrass had made, considering that the older wizard seemed to be as “traditional” as the Malfoys were – or, more importantly, _that his family apparently had a “seat” on it_.

And that was just something that didn’t sit right with him, if he was being perfectly honest, which allowed for ample distraction from the facts about his wedding night that he _really_ didn’t want to think about.

“Usually,” Albert Bones added, causing Harry to blink and turn to pay attention to the other man, “This would be quite a problem in our society...not many wizards like the idea of their wives and their children keeping the wife’s name, which means that all of our daughters’ theoretical husbands would have probably taken on another wife, as that is legal in our society for reasons like that or even this.”

Conleth Finnegan blinked. “It is?” he asked, before he turned and looked at his wife, Rose. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

His wife flushed in response. “Err...it just never came up, I suppose?” she replied. “I mean, although my sister had a last of line agreement, it was never going to happen to me...” She trailed off.

From the other side of the table, Xenophilius suddenly leaned forward in his seat. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even give any indication that he was going to do anything to speak, but for some reason, Harry thought that the wizard desperately wanted to say something – to _ask_ something – in that moment.

Suddenly, a new thought occurred to Harry then, even though he was still thinking about the Wizengamot and about why no one had ever told him how it had worked before or that he had had a seat on it...not even Professor Dumbledore...

“Err...” Harry said, then paused when everyone turned to look at him.

Anemone Moon – who looked an awful lot like her daughter, now that he thought about it. They had the same dirty blonde hair and bright, blue eyes – smiled at him encouragingly. “What is it, Mr. Potter?” she asked.

“Well...” he began hesitantly. “It’s just that...if Ginny has to – err – has to be my first wife, who’s second, then? And who’s the third, fourth, and fifth, and so on?”

Cressida Davis hummed thoughtfully. “I didn’t think that we had to discuss it today, given how busy that this meeting was already going to be,” she said, “but Mr. Potter _does_ have a point. We probably _should_ discuss it, so that we’re all on the same page before we leave here today...shouldn’t we?”

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “A wise decision, I think,” he said, even as his eyes carefully turned to look at Harry. “Who do you all think should be the second wife?”

All of the parents – and indeed, their daughters as well – exchanged looks.

“Gabrielle should not be second,” Jean-Claude Delacour said rather firmly in his distinctive French accent. “Not only because she is too young, but also because Mr. Potter knows her ze least. Zat, and she does not speak much English – something which I am hoping will change, upon her transfer to zis school.”

Dumbledore nodded again, although whether it was because he agreed with Mr. Delacour or because he was acknowledging the transfer, Harry didn’t know.

“On the youth part, the same goes for my younger daughter, Astoria,” Castor Greengrass said. “In fact, I would rather that she was the last to be married, given her age.”

“But Father – ” Astoria – who had mousy brown hair and wide, green eyes – began to protest, speaking for the first time since she had introduced herself.

Castor Greengrass merely gave her a scowl in response, causing her to hesitantly sigh and nod her head in agreement.

“...Well,” Cressida Davis said thoughtfully, “if we don’t want our youngest to go first, why don’t we have the oldest go first? We start with Ms. Finnegan or Ms. Bell, and then go down the line from there.”

Conleth Finnegan’s face suddenly reddened. “Now wait just a minute – ” he started.

Cressida Davis pointedly ignored him as she turned to look at Katie and Léan. “Which one of you is older, dears?” she asked kindly.

Léan and Katie shared a look, before the former girl turned to look at the older witch and said, “I am. My birthday’s October 1st, 1978. Katie’s is May 17th, 1979.”

Cressida Davis nodded. “So, you would be next, then. And Katie would be after you.”

“Yes,” Léan replied. “But only if that’s acceptable to Harry.”

Once again, Harry suddenly found himself on the receiving end of everyone’s gazes. It was quite the uncomfortable feeling. However, what perhaps was even _more_ uncomfortable was how, when he didn’t immediately reply, Professor Dumbledore asked, “And is that acceptable to you, Harry?”

Harry didn’t immediately answer, because he didn’t really know what the answer to that _was_. Because on one hand, he knew what he _should_ say, and that was that he agreed with Léan that she should marry him next. But, on the other hand...

...Harry’s eyes flitted over to Hermione. He saw her vulnerable figure, her prone form. For some reason, he felt like _she_ should be the second wife, even if she was as catatonic as she was...that she _had_ to be next in the order. That it was only right. That it was only just. After all, he knew her (and Ron, although he wasn’t in this situation so he wasn’t really worth mentioning) like the back of his hand...he knew her better than he knew himself.

...But, that being said, Hermione was still Hermione. She was still independent and smart and strong, even if she didn’t seem like the first or last things right now. And because of that, he knew that he couldn’t ask her to do something that would put him before herself...at least, not when someone else was volunteering to do the same thing in her place, and was much more willing to do what they had to do as well.

Thus, despite the fact that his heart was suddenly feeling a lot heavier than before, Harry turned back to look at the rest of the group, and with a voice that was as convincing as he could possibly manage, he said, “Yeah, that’s fine with me,” and was completely oblivious to the wide, brown eyes that looked up at him in shock in response to his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Colloquies
> 
> P.S.: This story is now at 300+ followers on FFN, which is something I am really thankful for! Hope you all are proud of yourselves ;)


	16. Chapter 15: Colloquies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you all are doing well. Not much to say about today’s chapter, just that I hope you like it! ;) Next chapter will be posted next Wednesday. So, until then,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Wednesday, 6 September 1994  
_ ** **_Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain_ ** ****

**“Ah, Madam Bones, Mr. Potter, a moment, if you will.”**

Harry blinked, before turning to look at Professor Dumbledore with a frown on his face. After he, his future wives, and their families had all agreed that Léan Finnegan and Katie Bell would be his second and third wives, there had not been much else left to discuss. Thus, after figuring out the dates that he would marry the two girls – those dates being November 26th and December 31st – the headmaster had stepped in and concluded the meeting, causing everyone to get up and start to leave.

Everyone except Harry and Amelia Bones, that is.

At Dumbledore’s request, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement pursed her lips, but said nothing as she settled back into her seat. Her brother, Albert Bones, gave his younger sister a concerned look, but when she nodded stiffly at him, he grabbed his wife’s hand and his daughter’s shoulder before walking them out of the room, just like everyone else. Harry watched them go, but said nothing, not even when Susan Bones turned around and looked at him for a moment with her wide, greyish-blue eyes.

“What do you want, Albus?” Amelia Bones asked, her voice just as stiff as her posture, when everyone else had finally left the room.

“Oh, nothing much,” the headmaster replied. “Just a few spare minutes of your time, Amelia, if you’re up to it, because the three of us have something important to discuss.”

The witch raised an eyebrow in response. “You mean, something more important than comforting my niece about all of this? Or my aurors’ reports on the past few days?” she retorted.

Dumbledore’s lips twitched. “Perhaps,” he said.

Amelia Bones let out a sigh. “Fine, fine,” she said. “What is it?”

Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat. “Do you remember Sirius Black’s escape from this castle at the end of the last school year?” he asked.

The witch snorted. “Of course I do,” she replied. “How couldn’t I? It was the traitor’s second grand escape in almost a year.”

“Yes, I dare say it was,” Dumbledore agreed. “However, Mr. Black was not working alone during this escape. He had help, you see. Help that was only given after the true story about what happened to the Potters was discovered.”

“‘ _True story_ ’?” Amelia Bones asked as her eyebrows furrowed. “Albus, what on earth are you talking about?”

Dumbledore waved his hand towards Harry, signifying that the headmaster wanted him to speak. Nervously, Harry wet his lips. This was the moment that Professor Dumbledore had told him about, the moment when he could potentially be able to get Amelia Bones to start the process of making his godfather a free man. “Madam Bones,” he said softly, causing the witch in question to turn to look at him with a deep frown, “I – err – I met Sirius Black shortly before his second escape, as I’m sure you already know. And he...well, he told me things that sounded impossible. Things like how he wasn’t really the...the Secret Keeper for my parents when they died.”

Madam Bones snorted. “Of course he did,” she said. She looked like she was about to say something more after that but, when Dumbledore held up a hand, she sighed and gestured for Harry to continue speaking.

“He said that Peter Pettigrew was,” Harry continued. “And that Peter Pettigrew didn’t actually die the day that he supposedly did...that, when Sirius finally cornered him in London, he shouted out a bunch of false things before he killed all of those muggles and cut off his finger, before he disappeared.”

“‘Disappeared’?” Amelia Bones repeated. “That doesn’t make sense, Mr. Potter. If he disapparated, or used a portkey, or even a broom, we would have his magical signature, meaning that we would know that he didn’t die.”

Harry shook his head. “He didn’t do any of those things, though,” he said. “I – Madam Bones, Peter Pettigrew was _an unregistered animagus_ , as were my father and Sirius. They all become animagi in their fifth year, so that they could – well, so that they could help Remus Lupin, because he’s a werewolf, as I’m also sure that you know. And Peter Pettigrew’s animagus form was a rat, which is also why Sirius escaped Azkaban when he did, because...”

“Because of this,” Dumbledore interrupted him as he pulled an old newspaper from out of one of his robes’ many pockets.

Harry easily recognized the newspaper as the edition that had announced the Weasleys had won a lottery at the Ministry of Magic and had gone to Egypt in order to see Bill, who worked there. The newspaper was in pretty good condition for almost being a year old, although all of the moving pictures in it had stopped moving, a sign that the charms on them had all previously worn off.

Amelia Bones frowned upon seeing it, though. Obviously, she didn’t know why Dumbledore was showing it to her. However, when she saw the rat formerly known as Scabbers on Ron’s shoulder, her eyes widened and she quickly took out a pair of reading glasses from her robes. “The rat’s missing a toe...” she breathed. “The same toe that...”

“Peter Pettigrew lost, during his supposed fight with Sirius Black?” Professor Dumbledore finished for her. When she dazedly nodded, he said, “Quite. When Sirius Black was still in our custody at the end of the last school year, Mr. Potter here, along with his friends Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley, told our Minister, Severus Snape, and myself this story. None of us believed them. However, when Remus Lupin came to me to announce his resignation from his post as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor a few days later, he saw this newspaper on my desk, and he told me that he recognized this rat as the same rat that Peter Pettigrew turned into in his animagus form.”

“Would he be willing to testify to that?” Amelia Bones asked sharply.

Dumbledore nodded. “He would.”

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement took in a shaky breath. “Most of this is purely circumstantial evidence, Albus,” she said. “And you know that that means trying to even convince the Minister, let alone _the entire Wizengamot_ , of revisiting this case would be a nearly impossible battle.”

“Ah, but that is not mentioning the fact that Mr. Black did not receive a trial after he was arrested,” Dumbledore said.

Amelia Bones’s eyes widened. “ _What_?” she cried.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, I had a similar reaction when I went to look at the records for information about his trial, following my conversation with Remus Lupin,” he said. “Especially when I realized that, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I should have realized that such a travesty had taken place and done my best to correct it. But, alas, as I’m sure you know, the time immediately following the war was a much different time than the one we are living in now...especially where Minister Bagnold and Barty Crouch were concerned...”

Madam Bones nodded solemnly. “That they were,” she said, before she sighed. “I’ll have to bring up all of this with the Minister...maybe if I paint it in the light of him getting the justice that he deserves and carefully leaving out the fact that Sirius had help with his second escape...” here, she eyed Harry, obviously having realized that he was one of the people who had helped his godfather escape that night, “...I can get him to _at least_ give Sirius a trial. But he’s going to have to turn himself in, Albus. And he’s going to have to get himself registered as an animagus, regardless of his innocence.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “I figured as much,” he said. “And I’m sure that, should this information be provided in _The Daily Prophet_ , that he will be more than willing to do both of those things.”

Amelia Bones looked at the headmaster sharply then, as if she somehow already knew that Dumbledore knew where Sirius was. After a moment, though, she let out another sigh. “That won’t be the only thing that he finds out in _The Daily Prophet_ , I’m sure,” she said. “Rita Skeeter knows that something is amiss going on here right now, and even if you charmed her magical signature away from here and charmed the students’ post not to reveal anything until we’re already, it’s only a matter of time until she and everyone else finds out about what took place last Friday.”

Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

“Mr. Potter,” the witch then said, and Harry found himself blinking and turning to look at her, his eyes wide. “I admit, I was more than a little concerned about you when I was first told that all of this happened. However, that being said, you truly impressed both myself and most of the other adults in this room – including Castor Greengrass, which is truly saying a lot.” Here, her lips quirked, causing Harry to think that she and the father of Daphne and Astoria were possibly rather close friends. “And you have impressed me even further by presenting me with this information. So, I will do my best to give your godfather a trial, not just in the pursuit of a justice, but also as a gift to both you and my niece.”

Harry did his best to give the witch a smile. “Th – thank you, Madam Bones,” he said.

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement gave him a smile of her own in return. “No, _thank you_ , Mr. Potter. Truly.”

~~~

Hours after the meeting with his “betrothed” and their families, as well as the meeting between him, Professor Dumbledore, and Madam Amelia Bones, Harry found himself standing nervously in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

It had been, as he now realized, five days since he had really talked to any of his classmates, the glares and whispers that they had thrown at him earlier in the hallway not counting. And while those five days were small in comparison to the summer break that they had followed, they also felt as if they had actually been a _lifetime_ in length. So many things had changed since then, so many things were now irrevocably different, and Harry found himself fearing the response that he would get from his fellow Gryffindors if he were to walk into the common room right then, right now. Fearing what they would say, what they would do, like he was suddenly back in his second year all over again...

“Well, are you going to say the password or not?” the Fat Lady suddenly asked him, causing him to blink and look up at her.

“What?” he asked.

The Fat Lady huffed in response. “I don’t got all day, you know,” she said. “Especially not for trivial matters such as this. So, are you going to say the password or not?”

Harry frowned. _Trivial?_ He didn’t really think that discovering his parents weren’t really as good as everyone said they were was trivial, nor was finding out that he was “betrothed” to eighteen different girls. Nevertheless, he knew better than to try to argue with the portrait. So, with a deep, shaky breath, he said, “Balderdash.”

The Fat Lady huffed again. “Finally,” she said as her portrait swung to the side.

With legs that felt like gelatin, Harry walked through the hole that was behind her portrait and into the Gryffindor common room. It looked just like it had the three previous years of his Hogwarts education, and there were several students in the room, sitting around in the chairs and chatting, having what looked to be a good time.

But, of course, as soon as they noticed him, everybody went quiet, their eyes going wide and their faces turning pale. One of the first years, a girl with mousy brown hair, even dropped the book that she was reading as her mouth opened in shock, and one of her friends whimpered before she suddenly jumped out of her seat and ran up the stairs leading to the girls’ dorms.

 _Great,_ Harry thought with a grimace. _Yet again, I’m a pariah for something that I didn’t even do..._

Harry shifted uncomfortably for a moment, desperately wishing that everyone would just stop looking at him, before he let out a sigh and moved to walk up to his dorm. He pointedly ignored how everyone’s eyes trailed after him, as well as the fact that no one who was particularly close to him – the students in his year, his bonded, the Weasley twins – was in the common room, because he didn’t want to think about what exactly that latter thought meant.

Walking up the stairs to his dorm was like walking up a mountain at an extremely high altitude with lead shoes. In fact, by the time that he reached the landing that his dorm room was on, Harry felt exhausted, as if the weight of the world was weighing on his shoulders, and he wanted to do nothing more than sleep, even if he knew that he was probably hours away from attaining such a thing.

With a sigh, Harry opened the door to his dorm room and walked in.

Seamus, Dean, Neville, and Ron were all inside, as he had expected. They were all sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, looking as if in they were deep discussion about something, but upon hearing the sound of the door opening they all turned to look at him with big, wide – even _fearful_ – eyes.

“Err...h – hi Harry,” Neville said. Harry couldn’t help but notice that he was the first one to speak, which was quite an uncommon thing for him to do, as usually Ron and/or Seamus had to have the first word in absolutely everything.

“Hi, Neville,” Harry greeted the other boy tiredly. “Hi Ron, Dean, Seamus.”

“Hello,” Dean replied with a strained smile.

“Hey, mate,” Ron said.

Seamus didn’t say anything at all.

For several long, tense moments, nobody spoke. Harry wordlessly walked over to his bed and promptly collapsed on it, before sighing at how soft it felt. His bed at the Dursleys wasn’t – _hadn’t_ – been comfortable in the slightest, after all, and the beds in the Hospital Wing weren’t much better. So it was nice to collapse onto something soft after a long, stressful day...

...Stressful _three_ days, really.

“S – so...” Dean eventually said, his voice cutting into the tense silence like a dull blade. “Ron and Seamus told us you met – uh – your future in-laws today...how was it?”

Harry turned so that he could look at all of them – could look at Ron and Neville’s pale faces, along with Dean’s sympathetic one and the back of Seamus’s head, because the Irish boy was currently looking away from him – and raised an eyebrow in response. “How do you think it was?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know...stressful?”

Despite how terrible he was feeling, Harry couldn’t help but snort. “‘Stressful’,” he repeated dully. “That’s one way of putting it.”

He didn’t really know why he was feeling so _angry_ then, at all times, but he was. Hot, boiling resentment was coursing through his body, just underneath the surface of his skin, and in the deepest pits of his stomach. Or, at least, he _thought_ it was resentment...because, to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t quite sure what it was. But, whatever it was, he knew that he felt it towards his four dorm-mates – _soon-to-be-former-dorm-mates_ – then, even if they hadn’t done anything wrong to him. Even if they had even more of a right to be angry at him, despite him having done nothing wrong, than he did to be angry at them.

Ron worriedly looked at him, his eyes full of concern. Obviously, he didn’t know that _Ginny_ was going to have to get married to him on October 29th, yet. “Wh – what did they say?” he asked.

Harry shrugged. He didn’t particularly want to tell Ron about what had happened, didn’t want to be the one to break the news to him that his little sister was getting married off at thirteen-years-old, instead of fifteen like he and his parents had probably expected. Nor did he want to be the one to break the news to Seamus that his half-sister was next after Ginny, because Harry could tell that the other boy was angry – maybe not at him, sure, but he was still _definitely_ angry.

Desperate to change the subject, Harry nervously wet his lips before asking, “Uh...how far behind on schoolwork am I?”

Ron, Neville, and Dean all shared a look.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Dumbledore didn’t tell you?” Ron asked. When Harry shook his head, the redheaded boy said, “Harry, mate...school’s been cancelled until next week. Dumbledore decided it was best for everyone or something like that, so that we – so that we could all get used to... _this_.”

“‘This’,” Harry repeated.

Nervously, Ron nodded.

Harry sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Well...at least I’m not behind on schoolwork,” he said, trying his best to look on the bright side of things. He _needed_ to look on the bright side of things. Because if he didn’t...

...Well, he didn’t want to think about that.

Harry closed his eyes. Although he had known that he was going to have to talk to Ron and the rest of their dorm-mates eventually, after today’s revelations and decisions, he hadn’t really wanted to talk to them then. In fact, all he wanted to do was sleep...sleep and pretend that, at least for a while, his life could back to the relative normalcy that it had previously been.

However, apparently Ron and the rest of their dorm-mates – excluding Seamus, of course – didn’t want him to sleep right then, because he heard the sound of them all nervously shifting. Then, Neville tenuously asked, “...Harry?”

Harry opened his eyes. “Yeah, Neville?” he asked.

“Ron and I...” Neville began quietly, but when Dean gave him a plain look, he hurriedly added, “and Dean...we’re all here for you, you know. If you want us...to be, that is. And I know the same goes for the twins and...and Seamus too...”

Once again, the pudgy boy trailed off, but this time it was to look at Seamus hopefully. However, when the Irish boy suddenly stood up with a sigh and walked over to his bed before getting into it and closing the curtains, Neville’s hopeful look turned into one of uncertainty, and he nervously turned back to look at Harry.

Not wanting the other boy to get too upset, Harry quietly said, “Err...thanks, Neville. And you, too, Ron. Dean.”

And truly, if he had talked with Ron, Neville, and Dean earlier, before the meeting with his “betrothed” and their families had occurred, Harry would’ve been thankful for Neville’s words of confidence. He knew he would’ve. However, all he could feel now was a tiredness that he hadn’t really felt up until now, due to him being in shock about everything, and a loneliness he didn’t want to feel. Because, despite having lived with the Dursleys for pretty much the fourteen years of his life, Harry had never felt as alone as he did now.

As images of Hermione’s terrified face and Ginny’s horrified one played in his mind, Harry got up to close the curtains around his bed. And, once he closed them, he tiredly collapsed back into the mattress, before closing his eyes and wishing that he could fall asleep as quick as he could.

Little did he know that he would be tossing and turning for most of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: The New Normal


	17. Chapter 16: The New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you all are safe and well (especially those of you who were in Hurricane Hanna’s path!). Once again, there’s not much to say about today’s chapter other than that I hope you enjoy it. Although, that being said, I will say that we don’t have a whole lot of more chapters to go until the next major time skip – in fact, I think the next time skip will occur between chapters 20 and 21, or somewhere around there. That’ll probably be where some of the angst picks up again as well, both because of the Triwizard Tournament and because of reasons that will be explained. >:)
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on Wednesday, as planned. So, until then, I hope that you all remain safe and well. :)
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Monday, 12 September 1994  
_ ** **_Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain_ ** ****

**Harry sighed as he walked into the Great Hall that morning, ignoring the ogling stares and glares directed his way from his fellow classmates.** He also ignored the concerned looks of Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and even Professor Pritchard as he sat down at his usual spot at the Gryffindor table, and ignored the fact that Hermione was nowhere to be found as he helped himself to the eggs, toast, rashers, and bangers nearby.

In the days that had followed his meeting with his bonded – he had given up on calling them his “betrothed” a few days ago – and their families, Harry had been forced to settle into what Dumbledore had apparently called the “new normal” of daily life at Hogwarts. He had been forced to get used to the fact that, wherever he went, all of his classmates stopped to either stare, glare, and/or whisper about him, both because of his lightning-shaped scars that they could now see, because of the fact that everyone was seemingly friends with _at least_ one of his bonded, and because of the rather scathing article about the whole thing that Rita Skeeter had published in _The Daily Prophet_ the previous Friday. Personally, Harry hadn’t read the article, as he didn’t want to read any slanderous words about him, his bonded, or his parents, but he knew that it must have been bad by the way that Ron had angrily crumpled up the copy of the newspaper that Neville had given him as soon as he had read the blasted thing.

However, the stares, glares, and whispers – as well as having constantly seen his name in _The Daily Prophet_ and even _Witch Weekly_ over the weekend – weren’t the only things that Harry had been forced to get used to, because he had also been forced to get used to how his stomach churned whenever he was around his four dorm-mates, how he had to studiously keep his eyes focused on his bonded’s faces whenever he saw them (because seeing the shock of golden-green magic around their necks always made him feel like he was going to be sick), and how Hermione had all but disappeared from his life. No matter where he went, it seemed, he couldn’t find her, because she had pretty much stayed in the girls’ dormitory ever since the previous Wednesday, and only came out for meals when she was seemingly sure that he wasn’t around, despite the fact that all he wanted to do was _talk_ with her. Listen to her. Hear her advice.

It just wasn’t _fair_. It wasn’t fair that his magic had chosen her to be one of his bonded when, before, he had never liked her in that way. Especially not when their friendship was seemingly getting destroyed because of it.

“Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said as she suddenly appeared next to him, causing Harry to blink and look up at her in response.

“Yes, Professor McGonagall?” he asked nervously.

The Transfiguration professor handed him a piece of parchment and what looked to be two small catalogues. “Here is your time table,” she said in reference to the the singular piece of parchment, “along with two catalogues that the headmaster thought might... _interest_ you. He wishes that you will talk to him about the first one when you are ready, and that you would talk with Ms. Weasley about the second one.”

“Right,” Harry said as he put the time table on the table next to his plate in order to see what the two catalogues were about.

The first catalogue was what looked to be a catalogue for wizarding real estate, specifically real estate for land that hadn’t yet been built on. Remembering what Sirius had said about him needing to either buy or build a house for his family sometime soon, Harry begrudgingly put it in his schoolbag, even if all he wanted to do upon the sight of it was to spell it on fire and watch it burn. As for the second catalogue, though...

“Is that a _wedding_ catalogue?” Ron suddenly asked from his place on the other side of the table, his face pale.

Ron and the twins had all been told about Ginny having to marry Harry on October 29th the previous Thursday, when Fred and George had asked their younger sister what was wrong upon seeing her crying. Harry hadn’t been around when that had happened – he had, admittedly, been hiding in his and Ron’s dorm room – but, by all accounts, what followed was nothing short of legendary, because while the three youngest Weasley brothers may or may not have wanted to corner Harry and beat him up for his impending wedding to Ginny (regardless of the fact that neither of them wanted it to happen), _Ginny’s_ anger at their reactions, along with her wicked Bat-Bogey Hex, ensured that they didn’t.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied after a moment as he hurriedly put the second catalogue in his schoolbag as well. “Does it matter?”

Ron hesitantly shrugged. “Guess not,” he said before he went back to his breakfast, albeit with a more morose expression than before.

For a moment, Harry felt a twinge of guilt towards his friend. Ron didn’t deserve his anger, or to be forced to watch his sister get married off at thirteen-years-old, or even for his and Hermione’s friendship to end because the bushy-haired girl had all but gone MIA. He really didn’t. Truly. But there was nothing that Harry could do about the latter two things, and he was just _too angry_ to do anything about the first. In fact, anger was one of the few simmering emotions he could still feel at this point, along with guilt and apathy.

 _Speaking of guilt and apathy..._ Harry thought as he non-conspicuously spared a glance towards where he knew Ginny was sitting with the twins, towards the other end of the Gryffindor table. She was moodily stirring her bowl of porridge with her spoon, her head down and her hair obscuring her face from view. However, that being said, he _knew_ that her eyes were still red from all of the uncharacteristic crying that she had done since Wednesday, and that there were dark bruises underneath them due to the fact that she had probably been getting little to no sleep. All of his bonded, save for Luna, the Greengrasses, and Diana Runcorn were pretty much in the same state, after all, and Harry hadn’t been getting much sleep, either.

Quickly turning back to his breakfast, Harry picked up his timetable and examined it. His first class of the day was Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, followed by Care of Magical Creatures. And, as if that wasn’t enough, after lunch he also had a double-block of Divination, meaning that he would not only have to deal with several of his bonded and their friends, but also Hagrid’s dangerous magical creatures and the distorted ramblings of Professor Trelawney as well.

Ignoring his plate, which was still half-full, Harry grabbed his schoolbag and stood up. Ron didn’t fail to notice this, though, as he looked up from his breakfast again, his eyebrows furrowed. “Harry?” he asked. “Where you going?”

“Class,” Harry replied with a shrug. “Might as well. Gotta get the day over with sometime, right?”

Before his best friend could reply, Harry steadfastly walked away, and once again ignored all of the pairs of eyes that followed him.

~~~

Just as Harry had figured that morning, his first day of classes didn’t really go all that well.

At the start of Herbology, Professor Sprout had walked into the greenhouses and began their first lesson of the year with a short speech in which she basically said that “drama surrounding recent events will not be tolerated during this class”. Of course, that didn’t stop Justin – _Justine_ , Ernie Macmillan, Zacharias and Sally Smith, or Roger Malone from constantly glaring at him, much like they had all done back in their second year when everyone had thought that Harry was the heir of Slytherin. Harry pointedly ignored them as he listened to Sprout’s lesson – which, as every first lesson of the year was with her, was a basic rehashing of rules for the greenhouse and the different types of caring techniques that they would be using for the year – just as he ignored the sympathetic looks that Neville, Susan, and Susan’s best friend Hannah Abbott gave him.

Things did not go much better in Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was noticeably subdued as he introduced them to the mooncalf herd that he had bought over the summer, which was a surprising change of pace from the hippogriffs that he had started them off with the year before. That was probably half of the reason why the giant wizard was so upset, with the other half being his undoubted concern for Harry and Hermione, if the way that his beady black eyes constantly flickered between the two of them was any indicator. Just like in Herbology, though, Harry ignored Hagrid’s concern, just like how he ignored the glares that Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson were giving him.

Divination was undoubtedly the worst class of the day, though. As soon as he had climbed into the classroom, Professor Trelawney had shrieked and stared at him with her wide, bug-like eyes. Harry stared at her in return, expecting her to say something relating to his “impending doom” or something like that. However, in lieu of doing her usual tidings of death and darkness, the Divination professor quickly turned away from him, as if the very sight of him was too much for her to behold, and asked for everyone to take out their dream journals from the summer so that she could take them for grading.

All of the students, Harry included, did as they were told. Professor Trelawney then walked around the room to collect them, her hands shaking even more than they usually did. When she reached the table where Ron and Harry were sitting, though, she only took Ron’s dream journal, ignoring Harry’s offering of his. Harry frowned at this, not knowing why the seer ignored him, and tried to offer his journal to her again. However, when she saw this, Trelawney let out another shriek, before she looked at him again, her eyes fearful and her form visibly trembling.

“Mr. – Mr. Potter,” she said, her voice shaky. “I am afraid that I can no longer teach you.”

“Wh – _what_?” Harry asked, absolutely gobsmacked.

“I can – I cannot teach you anymore,” the Divination professor repeated. “You must – you must leave. _Now_. You must leave and not come back. I am afraid that you have nothing to gain from this class any longer.”

Disbelievingly, Harry turned to look at Ron, who gave him his own disbelieving look in return, before turning to look at the rest of his classmates. They were all looking at him with wide eyes, because _no one_ had been kicked out of one of Professor Trelawney’s classes before, not even Hermione. Thus, for him to be kicked out – and not with any _real_ reason at that – was...well, astonishing.

“ _Now_!” Professor Trelawney repeated herself again, her voice louder.

Frowning, Harry stood up from his chair, before he grabbed his schoolbag and walked over to the circular trapdoor, which he opened and climbed down through. Not really caring about what Professor Trelawney would do to him, he didn’t bother to gently pull the trapdoor closed behind him, causing it to slam back into place rather forcefully.

From above, he was pretty sure he heard the Divination professor give another shriek in response.

“Did Professor Trelawney kick you out?”

Harry jumped at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, before he quickly turned around to see who was speaking. His eyes widened when he saw that the person who had just spoken was the new History of Magic professor, _Professor Pritchard_. The older wizard was leaning against one of the columns built into the wall, his face sympathetic and his fierce grey eyes sharp and calculating.

“P – Professor Pritchard,” Harry greeted the man with a frown on his face. “How’d you know that Professor Trelawney just – ”

“Oh, I had a hunch, that’s all,” the professor answered as he suddenly stood up straight and walked towards Harry, a slight smile on his face and a small chuckle accompanying his words. “Not to speak ill of a colleague, but, after I realized that you bore the mark of Mabon, I knew that Professor Trelawney would...well, that she wouldn’t treat you _well_ , let’s just leave it at that.”

Harry’s frown deepened at that. Although Professor Dumbledore had told him that it had been Professor Pritchard to figure out that what was going to happen...well, _happened_ , he had never spoken with the professor up until now, so he hadn’t really had a chance to ask him about just _how_ the older wizard had figured it out. Nor had he really had a chance to ask Pritchard about _why_ he hadn’t said anything once Harry and the rest of the students had arrived at Hogwarts, in order to maybe-sort-of prepare them for all of the chaos that had been fated to ensue.

Just when Harry was about to ask the History of Magic professor this, though, Professor Pritchard said, “Well, I should probably take you to see Professor McGonagall now, shouldn’t I?”

Harry blinked. “S – sir?” he asked, confused.

Pritchard smiled in response. “Once again, I do not want to speak ill of a colleague,” he said, “but I doubt that Professor Trelawney will let you back into her classroom again – I believe that she is someone who fears the magic of the ancients, and to have you so close to her is probably too much for her to bear. So, that being said, you should probably see Professor McGonagall, so that the two of you can decide what to do about Trelawney refusing to teach you anymore. And I should probably accompany you to Professor McGonagall’s office, so that you do not get a detention for skipping a class that you have been kicked out of for no fault of your own.”

“Oh,” Harry said lamely after a moment. “That makes sense...I guess.”

“That’s what I thought,” the professor replied. “So, come along, Mr. Potter. I do not have all day.”

With that, the History of Magic professor started walking down the Divination staircase. Harry hurriedly followed after him, even though he wasn’t sure what to make of the older wizard. After all, Professor Pritchard seemed rather... _strange_ , for some reason, in his mannerisms and expressions. And for some reason, that made Harry think that the older wizard had not grown up or even lived in the wizarding world of Great Britain, even though he had a fairly standard British accent.

“So,” Professor Pritchard said after a few minutes of them walking together, “are you excited for my class, Mr. Potter?”

“Err – ” Harry replied, not really sure if he should tell the older wizard the truth or not. “I...I guess?”

The professor chuckled again in response. “Most of your fellow students have had a similar response,” he said. “Mostly because my predecessor...well, he left _much_ to be desired, even when he was still living. Or, at least, that’s what I have heard, anyways, because I haven’t been able to have the pleasure of meeting Cuthbert Binns.”

Harry blinked again. “You haven’t?” he asked. “Why not?”

Professor Pritchard sighed. “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to tell you the reasons for that, Mr. Potter,” he said.

“Oh,” Harry said in response.

The two of them walked in silence again for another few minutes, mainly because Harry didn’t really know what to talk to the professor about...or even if he actually wanted to talk with Harry. Professor McGonagall was not really one for conversation, after all, and Professor Snape would rather hurl insults at him than even try to attempt to make conversation. In fact, the only two professors that Harry was comfortable with talking to were Remus, who was no longer a professor, and Professor Dumbledore, who he knew probably wouldn’t have spent so much time with Harry, if it wasn’t for him being the Boy-Who-Lived and all that.

 _The Boy-Who-Lived, not because of magic borne from his mother’s sacrifice, but rather borne from her desperation and willingness to sacrifice not just her son’s happiness, but the happiness of so_ many _others..._

“Mr. Potter,” Professor Pritchard said, stirring Harry out of his rather dark train of thought. “I am aware that things have not been going... _well_ for you, to say the least, after the events of the Welcoming Feast. Professor Dumbledore has told me as much – although his words weren’t necessary for me to see how you have been faring – out of concern for you. I am something of an...expert on the Druidic Era, you see, and on wizarding customs in general.

“So, that being said, I extend an offer to you,” the professor continued. “If you ever feel like you have any questions to ask about the Ritual of Mabon, please feel free to come to my office...regardless of the hour.” At Harry’s blank look, Pritchard chuckled and added, “Yes, Professor Dumbledore has told me about your Invisibility Cloak, Mr. Potter. But, rest assured, I have no interests in ever confiscating it from you, even if you use it... _irrationally_. That being said, you are also welcome to come to my office at any time if you have any questions about the content that we will be covering in my class this year, because believe it or not, quite a bit of it pertains to _you_. And I do not want you, or any of my students, for that matter, to be lost or confused when it comes to our society’s history, or the customs that we use and have been using for centuries.”

“Uh, o – okay,” Harry said. “Th – thank you, Professor.”

The professor waved his hand. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Potter...ah, here we are.”

Harry looked up. Sure enough, the two of them were now standing in front of the door leading to Professor McGonagall’s office.

“I’ll leave you here, then,” Professor Pritchard said with a nod. “Good day, Mr. Potter. I’ll see you tomorrow morning in class.”

“Uh...good day, Professor,” Harry replied.

But the History of Magic professor didn’t hear him, because he was already walking away.

Sighing, Harry turned back to look at the door to Professor McGonagall’s office, unable to stop himself from thinking about how... _strange_ Professor Pritchard acted. How strange he had talked. It was almost like he was much older than he looked...

 _...No,_ Harry thought about the idea with a shake of his head. _That’s silly. I’m just...I’m just not used to how_ strange _everything else has become. I’m sure that’s it. That that’s all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Professor Pritchard


	18. Chapter 17: Professor Pritchard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guess who’s back! I know it’s been a hot minute since I last updated, but not-so-fun side effects from medicine and college have been taking up a lot of my time. Thankfully, though, I had some free time recently, and I wrote this chapter up relatively quickly :) I hope you like it.
> 
> I don’t know when the next chapter will be at this point in time...depends on which chapter I choose to write next and how much time I have (...I have an essay due on Monday that I haven’t started yet, shame on me!). But, rest assured, there will be another update, as this story is one of my babies.
> 
> Also, I edited Chapter 6 (Chapter 7 if you ignore the titles), as it was pointed out to me by a certain reviewer that my French (which comes from all of 3 years of high school education) is a little...lacking. Much thanks to them, and if any of you see any faults with my French in the future, feel free to correct me on it!
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Tuesday, 13 September 1994  
_ ** **_Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain_ **

**In some ways, Harry’s second day of school – at least when it came to the morning of it, that is – was better than his first.**

It was better because, when Harry walked into the Great Hall that morning for breakfast, he did so with a new time table in his hands – a time table which no longer contained Divination in its schedule. This was because, after having a long conversation with Professor McGonagall the previous afternoon (in which the deputy headmistress also asked him “how he was doing”, much to Harry’s chagrin), Harry had decided to drop the class entirely, as not studying it all was apparently “much easier” than trying to study it independently. Plus, it also meant that he could drop the second elective entirely, because apparently that was possible for students in “remarkable cases” such as his to do during or after their third year.

Because of this, his morning was also better when he walked into the Great Hall, because while most of his classmates still vehemently glared at him and Professor Dumbledore still looked at him concernedly, both Professor McGonagall and Professor Pritchard no longer did the latter. It was as if him talking to both of them yesterday had somehow alleviated their worries about him, at least to the point where they were no longer were worried enough to stare at him. For this, Harry was thankful, even if he was astonished at the fact that this probably meant McGonagall believed him when he said that he was doing “just fine”.

However, despite these two reasons for the morning of his second day of school being better, in many ways, his morning was worse.

It was worse because, as Harry walked through the Great Hall and desperately tried to ignore the glares of his classmates and the concerned look from Professor Dumbledore, he caught the _distinctive_ sight of a head full of silvery-blonde hair sitting at the Ravenclaw table...a sight that meant that Gabrielle Delacour must’ve completed her transfer to Hogwarts from Beauxbatons. And while that may not have been a reason for his morning to be worse for some, it was for _him_ , because it served as a glaring reminder that her life, just like his and the other betrothed, had been _ruined_ by all of this.

After all, if all of this hadn’t happened, wouldn’t Gabrielle still be in France, still be with her father, her mother, and her sister? Wouldn’t she still be with her friends as well, instead of having to sit with what looked to be Luna Lovegood and Sophie Roper?

...Not that either of them were bad choices, of course, but still. If Gabrielle truly knew as much English as he thought she did, then having to make friends at Hogwarts outside of his bonded certainly wasn’t going to be easy for her, due to the language barrier.

Another reason why his morning was worse was because, as he later sat down at his usual place across from Ron, Hermione was once again missing – and not just from their vicinity, either. Just like the previous days, the bushy-haired girl was completely missing from the Great Hall, and just like before, it sent a pang through Harry’s heart as he morosely helped himself to the various plates of food in the center of the table.

But, undoubtedly, the _biggest_ reason why Harry’s morning was worse rather than better was because of what happened as soon as he finished filling his plate. This was because, as soon as he set his plate down, a large, horned black owl landed in front of him.

As soon as he saw the owl, Harry promptly dropped his silverware in surprise – no, not surprise. _Shock_. This action then caught the attention of Ron, who before had seemingly been just fine with leaving Harry to his own devices, but now looked up at him with a concerned look on his face. “Is that from Sirius?” the other boy proceeded to ask, his voice low.

Wordlessly, Harry nodded as he gingerly took the letter that the owl was offering him on its outstretched leg. Truthfully, in the almost-week since he had talked with Amelia Bones and last seen Sirius, he had forgotten all about the fact that his godfather was going to have to turn himself in to the Ministry so that he could prove his innocence, just like he had forgotten the fact that the man was going to send him a letter before he did so. Of course, this was _most definitely_ due to the fact that, due to all of the articles that Rita Skeeter had published about him in _The Daily Prophet_ , Harry hadn’t looked at a single newspaper since Friday.

But, despite knowing this, Harry couldn’t help but think of himself as a _careless idiot_ and a _horrible godson_.

Without even looking at the letter or the plate of food in front of him, Harry stood and hurriedly grabbed his still-packed things, just as tears – oh Merlin, was he _crying_? He never cried, he knew better than that, had been taught by the Dursleys to _be_ better than that – began to appear in his eyes.

“Hey, Harry, where are you going?” Ron asked, his voice now louder and more concerned. “You just sat down and fixed your plate!”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Harry said bitterly as he began to walk away. When he saw that Ron looked just about ready to follow him, even if his own plate was only half-empty, Harry hurriedly added, “Don’t worry, Ron. It’s nothing. I just...need some time alone.”

With that being said, he rushed out of the Great Hall, not willing to have to endure Ron’s caring for much longer, even if that thought made his stomach twist at his own selfishness.

For what seemed like an eternity afterwards but must have only been a few minutes, Harry aimlessly walked through the halls of the castle, not sure of where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do. Eventually, though, he decided to walk to the History of Magic classroom, his first class of the day – not because he wanted advice from Professor Pritchard, per se, (after all, as far as he knew, the older wizard was still in the Great Hall) but rather because he knew that the class had been moved to another room after Professor Pritchard had replaced Professor Binns, and that meant that it may be hard (or even impossible) to find.

So, with these thoughts in mind, Harry set off, carefully choosing not to look at the Marauder’s Map due to his desire of wanting a challenge – or, at least, something challenging enough to take his mind off of everything that was going on. However, much to his disappointment, the class wasn’t hard to find at all, as he found it within only a few minutes of walking. And, what’s more –

_– Professor Pritchard was already inside._

“Err...hello, Professor,” Harry said carefully as he stepped inside the classroom and took in its decor, which mostly consisted of large, Persian rugs which covered both the floor and the walls. There was also a portrait of a fair, blonde-haired woman next to the professor’s desk, but Harry paid it no mind as he looked at Pritchard curiously. “Is it...fine if I come in?”

“Oh, yes,” Professor Pritchard replied with what felt like fake surprise – after all, hadn’t he just been in the Great Hall earlier, and hadn’t he told Harry the previous day to stop by his office whenever he liked? – and a quirk of his lips. “Although, since you are here so early, would you care if you did me a favor?”

“Err...no, Professor,” Harry replied as he set his things down on one of the desks.

The professor’s smile widened. “Very well,” he said, before he gestured to a stack of books that were sitting on one of the desks in the first row. “Would you please place each of these books on the desks?”

Harry nodded and did as he was told, although it took him a few trips of taking small portions of the stack of books to do so. Curiously, though, as he placed all of the books on the desks, he noted the cover of the book, which depicted an old Celtic cross. Also on the cover of the book was its title, _The History of the British Isles: From the Druidic Era to the First British Wizarding War_ , and its author, Wolfram Prinz.

Having never seen this book before – both in the library, back when he and his best friends had been trying to research Nicholas Flamel in their first year, and in the bookstore Flourish and Blotts – Harry turned to look at the History of Magic professor with a small frown on his face. “Professor?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” the professor replied as he read what looked to be a battered, black-leather book.

“...I’ve never seen this book before,” Harry admitted hesitantly after a few moments.

The professor chuckled in response. “No, I imagine you haven’t,” he said. “The book is not very well-known, you see. That is to say, it is not a piece that anyone except for scholars, such as myself, would care to read.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, not sure of what else to say.

After having finished his work, Harry then sat down at the desk where he had set his things. Figuring that it would still be _at least_ a few minutes until his fellow classmates began to pour into the room, he looked at the portrait of the blonde-haired woman that he had seen before, suddenly curious.

The woman was very beautiful, with long, pale blonde hair that disappeared below the canvas, even though she was in a sitting position. She also had pale, _pale_ skin, a small nose, freckles, and large, silvery-grey eyes, that reminded Harry both of Luna Lovegood’s eyes and of small, silver pools. Her clothing consisted of a dark blue, Anglo-Saxon or medieval-looking dress and also a blue scarf, which she strangely wore around the middle of her neck.

Noting all of this and the attention of detail that was paid to her painting, Harry decided to ask Professor Pritchard who she was. However, before he could, the first of his classmates began to walk into the room, effectively cutting off any conversation that could’ve possibly been had between him and the older wizard.

“Hey,” Ron whispered as he slid into the seat that was right next to Harry’s. “I saved you some muffins from breakfast. Are you sure you’re alright?”

As if on cue, Harry’s stomach grumbled, reminding him of the fact that he had not yet eaten anything. “Thanks,” he replied as he took the napkin full of muffins that Ron held out for him underneath the desk. “I’m fi – I’m _okay_. I just...I _forgot_ that Sirius was going to send me a letter when he – _you know_. That’s all.”

Ron nodded somberly in response, and for that, Harry was thankful. It was hard enough for him to admit that he _wasn’t_ fine, so he wasn’t really wanting for his best friend to poke and prod, not like –

_– Hermione._

Harry watched as the bushy-haired girl in question walked by his and Ron’s desk, her head bent down and a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck. Although he had seen her in much of the same state yesterday, his heart still _ached_ as he watched her sit towards the front, right next to Neville. Just like yesterday, the pudgy boy looked surprised at this fact and also concerned as he shot a sympathetic look towards Harry, but he said nothing as the girl promptly took out her parchment for her notes, not looking back at either Harry or Ron once.

“Hello and welcome,” Professor Pritchard said a few minutes later as he stood up from his desk, after all of the ten Gryffindors and eleven Ravenclaws – History of Magic was one of the two classes that they shared with the other house this year, with Charms being the second one – had settled into their seats. “As you all already know, I am Professor Ulric Pritchard, your new History of Magic professor for this year – and hopefully for the rest of your education here.

“In front of you is your textbook for the entirety of your education with me,” Professor Pritchard continued. “This book was written and published in 1988, and I consider it to be the _magnum opus_ of history textbooks about the British Isles. Of course,” he added with a wry grin, “I am sure that many of you will disagree with me on this, considering that _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot is something of a...’common staple’ when it comes to books. However, as much as our society loves Bagshot’s work, it is undoubtedly biased, and also excludes much of our history that purebloods grow up learning, meaning that it gives many muggleborns a severe disadvantage when it comes to their History of Magic N.E.W.T.S and beyond. This is not surprising, considering that Bathilda Bagshot is the great-aunt of Gellert Grindelwald – ” here, Neville, Ron, the Patil twins, and the MacDougal twins all inhaled sharply “ – but, I digress.

“Now,” the professor said with a clap of his hands. “Let’s see how much you know. Tell me, what do you know about the Druidic Era and the founding of the first magical government in the British Isles?”

For several long moments, no one spoke or raised their hands. In fact, the air became heavy and thick with tension, as almost every single student in the room tensed. Harry, meanwhile, sunk into his seat, as he all but prayed for somebody to raise their hand so that the moment could end.

Thankfully – or, at least, Harry _thought_ it was thankfully – Seamus eventually raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Finnegan?” Professor Pritchard asked.

“Well, the Druidic Era is where the ritual used on Harry comes from, isn’t it?” he answered.

Harry sunk further into his seat as every single pair of eyes in the room, save for Hermione’s but including the portrait-lady’s, turned to look at him.

Professor Pritchard chuckled humorously. “Yes, indeed, the Ritual of Mabon is a creation of the Druidic Era,” he said, before he flicked his wand. _The Ritual of Mabon_ was then seemingly written in chalk on the chalkboard, even though there was no chalk in sight and the professor performed the magic wordlessly. Harry blinked in surprise at this, as did the rest of the classroom. “So five points to Gryffindor, even if that was not the answer I was hoping for. Does anyone else care to spread their knowledge?”

Gingerly, Lily Moon – who was a girl with dirty blonde hair and light blue eyes – raised her hand.

“Yes, Ms. Moon?”

“Well, the first magical government was formed by thirteen families,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “And these families later gained the ‘Founding’ title and three votes in the Wizengamot, unlike the Ancient and Noble houses, which have two, and the Ancient houses and Noble houses, which each have one.”

“Excellent!” Professor Pritchard exclaimed, before he once again flicked his wand. _Founding Families_ then appeared on the chalkboard. “And can you tell me the names of these Founding houses?”

Lily’s face reddened. “The families are Peverell, Moon, Nott, Ollivander, Lovegood, Black, Macmillan, Fawley, Cuilinn, Emrys, Gryffin, Shafiq, and Hengist,” she replied.

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” the professor said with a nod, and flicked his wand once more. “Indeed, these are the thirteen Founding families. Some of these, I am sure you recognize – Ms. Moon belongs to the Moon family, your classmates Mr. Nott, Mr. Macmillan, and Ms. Lovegood belong to their respective families, and so forth. Some of these families are also families that you probably do not realize you recognize as well. For instance, Godric Gryffindor was part of the Gryffin family, Salazar Slytherin was part of the Shafiq family, and Rowena Ravenclaw was from the Hengist family. All three of them changed their names in order to maintain an appearance of a lack of bias at Hogwarts. Helga Hufflepuff, of course, was a muggleborn, so while she also changed her name, it was for different reasons.

“Of these thirteen families,” Pritchard pressed onwards, obviously ignoring how Harry and most of the other students blinked in surprise at this revelation about the founders of Hogwarts, “nine are still extant, or surviving. The Emrys family died only three hundred years after the founding of the first magical government in 800 A.D., and the Hengist family died one hundred years after them. The Gryffin family died when Godric Gryffindor, the last member, changed his name, and the entire Cuilinn family was killed during a skirmish between British and Irish wizards in the 1700’s.

“As for the Peverell family, which I assume many of you think is an extinct family as well, given that the name died out in the 1300’s, it is actually still extant. The Peverells, as we will find out, were _very_ fond of loopholes,” here, Professor Pritchard smiled wryly, “and so when the last surviving member, Iolanthe Peverell, married a wizard called Hardwin Potter, she combined their families into one. Thus, the Potter house today has the full title of the Founding and Ancient and Noble House of Potter, which allows them five votes in total.”

Once again, all of the eyes in the room, save for Hermione’s, turned to look at Harry. Harry, not knowing what else to do, flushed, but rather than sink into his seat even further he sat up straight, although he wasn’t exactly sure why he did so besides the imminent threat that he would actually fall out of his chair.

“Anything else?” Professor Pritchard asked, his voice laced with disappointment.

Suddenly, a memory bubbled to the surface of Harry’s mind – a memory from over the summer, when he had been trying to research what had happened to him. It was the memory of reading an excerpt about the formation of the first magical government of the British Isles, a memory about how a wizard called – _oh, what was his name? Wulfnith? Wulfnod? No,_ Wulfnoð _!_ – Wulfnoð Peverell played a “key role” in it. A wizard with “lightning scars”, just like a him, a wizard that was –

Nervously, Harry raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” Professor Pritchard asked, his grey eyes suddenly alight with something that Harry couldn’t ascertain.

“Didn’t Wulfnoð Peverell help form the first magical government?” Harry asked.

The professor smiled widely in response, as if this was precisely the answer that he was looking for. “Five points to Gryffindor,” he said. _Wulfnoð Peverell_ then appeared on the chalkboard. “Although, allow me a moment of clarification, since Bathilda Bagshot was not entirely... _truthful_ about Wulfnoð Peverell’s role. You see, he did not just ‘help’ form the first magical government, he was _the_ founder of it. Originally from what we now call Gloucester, Peverell founded the government in order to unite all of the witches and wizards of the British Isles – whether they be from Wales like Peverell’s ancestors and the Emrys family, or from Ireland and Scotland like the Cuilinn and Macmillan families, respectively. Because of this, Peverell also became the first Chief of this government, and remained as such until he died one-hundred-and-fifty years later.

“Now that we have set the basic groundwork for the Druidic Era, let us get into the first chapter, _Chapter 1: The Druidic Era, or the British Isles From 1200 B.C. to 800 A.D._ But, before we begin, a word of advice: you may want to start taking notes now if you have not already, because unlike my predecessor, I _know_ that notes help you retain information more than sleeping does.”

~~~

“Err...Professor?” Harry asked as the rest of his classmates – save for Ron, who was waiting for him – walked out of the classroom, muttering about both the large amount of work that had just been assigned to them and the history that many of them had never heard of before.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” Professor Pritchard replied as he began to _manually_ clean the chalkboard, even though he had spelled the chalk on earlier.

“...I have a question about Wulfnoð Peverell,” Harry admitted with some hesitation as he shifted his feet uncomfortably. “Was he – I – I mean...I read some interesting stuff about him in _A History of Magic_ over the summer, and I was just wondering – ”

“Was he a bearer of the Ritual of Mabon, like you?” the professor finished for him as he suddenly turned around, an unascertainable look once again in his eyes.

Nervously, Harry nodded.

The older wizard regarded him with a quirk of his lips. “Usually, I would tell you the chapter of the book that this is discussed in, so that you may find the answer yourself,” he replied. “However, one of the few unfortunate issues that I have with Wolfram Prinz is that he does not, in fact, discuss this in the book. Of course, Prinz was a German wizard, meaning that he did not have access to the same documents that I do, but...”

Pritchard sighed and shook his head. “Truthfully, Mr. Potter, the best answer that I can give you is that we cannot know for certain if Wulfnoð Peverell was a bearer of the Ritual of Mabon,” he said. “While he does have many indicators of being such – such as his Lichtenberg figures, or ‘lightning scars’, and his mentions of rapid healing,” here, Harry blinked, as he recalled how his ankle had seemingly instantly healed from a sprain or breakage during the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup, “could be construed as such, these could also be effects of other rituals lost to time. Thus, it is impossible to know for certain.”

Harry frowned. For some reason, the... _lack_ of a definite answer bothered him. “Does that mean some people...think he was?” he asked.

The older wizard hummed thoughtfully. “Besides myself, I do not think anyone has given it much thought,” he responded, before he gave a soft smile. “But, as for myself...I prefer to think that he was. It is a matter of Occam’s Razor, after all.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “Occam’s Razor?”

“‘The simplest answer is most likely the right one’,” Pritchard quoted with a wink. “Now, go on, Mr. Potter. Your other classes are waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: TBD (It’s either gonna be A Talk With Ginny or Testaments Pt. 1...I’m leaning towards the former but don’t be surprised if it’s the latter)


	19. Chapter 18: A Date With Tonks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Hello, again! Sorry it’s been so long since my last update. Life has been busy for me the past few months, and just when I thought I had time over Thanksgiving break, some sad family news popped up. Winter Break has now started, though, so hopefully I can get at least a few chapters cranked out between now and the start of the second semester. :)
> 
> Writing this chapter was a bit of an enjoyable experience for me, because it completely came out of nowhere and I wasn’t expecting my mind to come up with it. But, I’m rather happy with the results, even if it means the time-skip is going to have to get pushed back to Chapter 23, instead of Chapter 22...Oh well lol!
> 
> Next chapter will hopefully be uploaded sometime next week.
> 
> Until then,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Monday, 19 September 1994  
_ ** **_Hogwarts, Scotland, Great Britain_ ** ****

**“Wotcher, Potter. You ready to go?”**

Harry, who had been playing with his breakfast more than he had been eating it, blinked and looked up in surprise. “Tonks?” he asked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

The pink-haired auror grinned. “Why, I’m picking you up, of course!” she replied cheerfully. But when Harry frowned, she tilted her head ever-so-slightly and said, “What? Didn’t you know?”

“Know what?” Harry asked.

Across the table, Ron snorted as he took a drink from his cup of pumpkin juice. “He wouldn’t know,” the ginger-haired boy said. “He hasn’t been reading the papers and Dumbledore hasn’t told him anything.”

Tonks scowled, before she suddenly leaned over the table. The action caused several other students to look over at her in interest, but then again, many of them had already been looking at her in the first place. After all, it wasn’t often that an auror showed up in the Great Hall and started chatting with the students, much less an auror with vibrant pink hair.

“What do you mean he _doesn’t know_?” she hissed, her voice sharp. “Surely, if Dumbledore hadn’t told him, you or Hermione would have.”

Ron flushed. “Yeah, well,” he snapped. “You probably haven’t but told, but Hermione isn’t exactly on _speaking terms_ with Harry at the moment. And I, well...”

He suddenly faltered.

Harry frowned. What was going _on_? Why was Tonks here? It wasn’t like he wasn’t glad to see her again – because he was, he _very much_ was – he just didn’t know what was going on. But apparently, both Ron and Tonks did. And also apparently, Ron hadn’t told him about it.

“Tonks, what’s going on?” Harry asked again.

The auror turned to look at him, a hard look in her eyes. “Sirius’s trial is today, Potter,” she said, her voice as equally hard as her eyes – and for good reason. “And you’ve been called to testify.”

~~~

“Wait,” Harry said roughly half an hour later.

The two of them were sitting in a coffeeshop somewhere in London, Harry wasn’t quite sure where. The place was a little... _lackluster_ , if the dirtied tile and the permanent scowl on the waitress was anything to go by, but Tonks, well...Tonks had insisted. Apparently, she preferred coffee over tea, and this place, despite how it looked, was one of her favorite coffeeshops in all of England.

Harry couldn’t quite see how this was the case.

“Yes, Potter?” Tonks asked him, suddenly stirring him out of his thoughts. “What is it?”

“I – oh,” Harry said, once he realized that he had stared off into space rather than asking her the question that he really wanted to. “I’m just...I’m just confused, that’s all. I mean,” he quickly added when he saw Tonks giving him a speculative glare over the muggle newspaper that she was reading, “Shouldn’t I have...I don’t know, heard about Sirius’s trial sooner? Not just because I’m supposed to testify – some time to...prepare, I guess, would’ve been nice – but also because I’m his godson? Doesn’t that give me...”

“...An advantage?” Tonks finished for him when he trailed off. When he nodded, she sighed, before she put down her paper and leaned forward. “Let me tell you something, Potter. You’re operating under muggle assumptions. Now, that’s not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong – my dad’s a muggleborn and my mum was blasted off the family tree when she became pregnant with me because of it. But it’s also not a good assumption to make, because the wizarding world isn’t _like_ the muggle world. Especially not for matters like this.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

Tonks hummed. “Think of it this way,” she said. “In the muggle world, if a minor over the age of fourteen is called to testify, they first have to decide whether or not the minor is able enough to give a sworn oath, right?”

Harry, who had never really had much experience with the muggle government before, had never heard such a thing before. Still, he knew Tonks probably knew what she was talking about, so, he nodded and said, “Right.”

“Well, you don’t get that right in the wizarding world,” Tonks continued once he had acknowledged her statement. “It’s unfortunate, but it’s true. If you are called to testify, then you are called to testify. No ‘if’s’ or ‘what’s’ about it. However, despite this being the case, the Wizengamot, when they call you to the stand if you’re a minor, _don’t_ actually send the summons to you. They send it to your magical guardian. And since your magical guardian is Dumbledore...” she trailed off and shrugged. “He really should have told you, but knowing him, he probably wanted to give you time, and he probably figured you would’ve read it in the papers. Merlin knows the journalists have been speculating ever since Sirius turned himself in that you would be called to trial.”

Harry scowled. For some reason, the part about Dumbledore wanting to give him ‘time’ really, _really_ bothered him. “Time,” he muttered. “Yeah, time. If he wanted to give me it, then how come he let Cressida Davis and the rest of them decide to get me married on October 29th?”

Tonks suddenly frowned. “Harry?” she asked, her voice taking a much kinder tone.

But Harry’s scowl only deepened. “I just – I don’t understand!” he vented, and then he felt _awful_ because Merlin, why was he telling this to Tonks? Why was he telling this to _anyone_? But before he could even think about not telling her anything else, it was all suddenly spilling from his mouth. “All of this is happening to _me_ , and yet I’m never the one who gets to make the choice! It’s all Cressida Davis, or Dumbledore, or – or – ”

“How long have you been feeling this way?” Tonks suddenly interjected.

Harry blinked. “What?” he asked.

“How long have you been feeling this way?” the auror repeated.

“Oh, I...” Harry began, his voice feeble. “I don’t know...a few weeks or so, I guess...”

“So basically since all of this started?” Tonks surmised. “Officially, I mean.”

“I...I guess?” Harry replied.

Tonks sighed, then ran a hand through her hair. “Great, just great,” she muttered. Then, she stared at him with a determined look on her face. “Harry, regardless if you’re getting married or not, you’re only _fourteen_. You’re not an adult. And while I full-heartedly agree that Cressida Davis and your other future in-laws should not have had as much say-so as they did, I also can’t help but place myself in their shoes. I mean, even after you get married, you _still_ won’t be an adult in their eyes, legally-speaking and otherwise. Marriage doesn’t automatically grant you emancipation in the wizarding world.”

“...Of course you’d think that way,” Harry muttered after a few moments.

“ _No_ , Harry!” Tonks snapped, just as her hair took on a reddish hue. “That’s not what I’m saying! Let me finish! I’m saying that, while I understand why they and Dumbledore think this way, you don’t necessarily have to continue letting them think so. _Think about it_. They’re expecting you, as a child, to behave in a certain way – ignoring their daughters, ignoring your duties, ignoring the inevitable – and _that’s_ why they wanted you to marry their daughters so soon. Or, part of the reason, anyways. I’m sure the side-effects that Cressida Davis touted had something to do with it, too.”

Slowly, all the anger that Harry was feeling dissipated. He hadn’t realized that Tonks had known as much as she did, but she _did_ have a point. If Cressida Davis and his other future in-laws had been concerned that he was going to act... _immature_ , he forced himself to think, then he had done a very good job at doing what they had expected him to do. After all, he hadn’t talked to Hermione or any of the other girls since all of this had started, hadn’t read the news, and he hadn’t even _looked_ at those catalogues that McGonagall had said Dumbledore wanted him to look at. He hadn’t done any of those things.

“So...what do I do, then?” Harry asked after a few minutes of him just sitting there, silently pondering what Tonks had said.

Tonks shrugged. “That depends. If you want to keep proving them right, if you want to keep letting them have most of the say-so, then I’d just keep doing what you’re doing,” she said nonchalantly. “ _But_ , if you want them to take you more seriously, if you want to feel less like they’re controlling you...then I’d start acting responsibly.

“You don’t have to do everything at once, of course,” she added when Harry frowned at the thought. “You can take small steps first. Maybe, today, you think about something you wanted to do for one of your future wives. Maybe, tomorrow, you open one of those catalogues that I can see peeking out of your bag. And maybe, _just_ maybe, you talk with Ginny this weekend. I’m good friends with her older brother Charlie, you know. He’s quite worried about her. They all are.”

Nervously, Harry nodded. Tonks had a point. He didn’t have to start all at once. He could start small. He _had_ wanted to get Hermione something for her birthday...which was _today_ , he realized with a frown. Somehow, between his own birthday and now, he’d forgotten about that. He could get her a gift now, couldn’t he? Although Tonks was supposed to take him to the Ministry of Magic so that he could testify for Sirius’s trial, it wasn’t time yet. It wouldn’t be until she got a message telling her to do so – Merlin knows whenever that would be.

“...You’re right,” Harry admitted.

Tonks grinned. “I usually am, I’ll have you know.”

“I was wanting to get Hermione a gift for her birthday,” he continued, ignoring her interjection. “Which is...today, and I forgot. But...I’m not quite sure what to get her. Can you help me?”

The auror’s grin widened. “Why, Potter,” she purred. “I never thought you’d ask.”

~~~

After a quick round of apparition – which, as Harry had discovered earlier that morning, he hated just as much, if not more, as the portkey form of transportation – Harry and Tonks suddenly appeared in an alley in Diagon Alley.

“Wow,” Harry said. “I didn’t know you could apparate to here.”

“Usually, you can’t,” Tonks supplied. “But I have special clearance, being with you and all that. Now, stay still. The press can’t know you’re here.”

Harry did as he was told. A few moments later, it was Tonks and a boy with straight, light brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles that walked out of the alleyway, and both of them were trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Alright, where do you want to go first?” Tonks asked.

Harry frowned. Although last year and in their second year, he had gotten Hermione books for her birthday, seeing as how much she loved to read and all that, this year, it just didn’t feel... _right_. Not when so many things had changed between them, anyways.

Not when they weren’t talking to each other.

“I...don’t know,” Harry admitted. “What do you think I should get her?”

Tonks snorted. “I don’t know her, Potter,” she pointed out. “Merlin, I barely even know _you_. Would she like flowers and chocolates?”

Harry, knowing that Herbology wasn’t one of Hermione’s favorite subjects and that her parents were dentists, shook his head. “No, definitely not.”

“Books?” Tonks tried.

“Already thought of that.”

“Jewelry?”

Harry shook his head again. “No, I don’t think so,” he said.

But even as he said the words, there was a niggling of doubt in his mind. Would Hermione _like_ jewelry? He didn’t know – he had never seen her wearing jewelry before, unlike Parvati Patil and her twin sister Padma, and her ears certainly weren’t pierced like theirs or Lavender Brown’s. But that _didn’t_ mean that he couldn’t get her some other kind of jewelry – not a ring, certainly! But...maybe a necklace? Would that do? A specific kind of necklace, maybe...one that could cover up the golden-green magic that was now permanently around her neck. Around all of his bonded’s necks. And maybe, if he got her a necklace, then he could get Ginny one too, if he really did decide to talk to her this weekend like Tonks suggested...

“Actually, let’s get her some jewelry,” Harry declared, once he had made up his mind.

“Well, I know _just_ the place for that,” Tonks said with a wink. “Follow me.”

The two of them walked down the road of Diagon Alley, past Madam Malkin’s, Florean Fortescue’s parlor, and even Ollivander’s wand shop. Eventually, they came to a stop at a small store, which a sign at the top of the doorway said was called: _Juvela’s Jewelry & Gemstones_.

Inside, the shop was rather airy, but also looked much like how the muggle jewelry stores looked, complete with the cases of jewelry. The only differences were that the floors and walls were covered with thick Persian rugs, and that the dark-skinned woman tending to the shop was obviously magical, if the shimmering of her ruby red robes was anything to go by.

“Ah, Miss Dora!” the woman exclaimed, her dark brown eyes glittering with delight. “How lovely it is to see you! And this is...?”

But Tonks only shook her head. “Can you turn on your privacy wards, Juvela?” she asked.

The woman, Juvela, clucked her tongue, but nevertheless waved her wand. Suddenly, there was a distinctive... _shimmering_ in the air, and the sign on the door, which had said that the shop was open, flickered to _“closed”_.

“Thank you,” Tonks said with a smile, before she gestured Harry forward. “Harry, meet Juvela Jaouhari, the best jeweler in all of England. Juvela, meet Harry Potter.”

Juvela, who had smiled and flushed at Tonks’s words, suddenly turned to look at Harry with wide, awed eyes. “Harry Potter,” she breathed, while Harry shifted uncomfortably. “The Boy-Who-Lived, and England’s most-eligible bachelor no more! Such an honor it is to have you in my store, young sir.”

“Err...it’s no problem,” Harry said.

“Juvela,” Tonks interjected, before the other witch could make him feel more uncomfortable. “Harry here would like to get one of his future wives something nice. Something like a ring – ”

“Not a ring!” Harry interjected, his eyes wide.

“Not a ring, then,” Tonks corrected with a nervous glance his way. “Maybe a necklace, then? Or some earrings? I don’t know, but – ”

“I know just the thing, ‘akhtaa,” Juvela said as she gently squeezed Tonks’s hand, before she turned to look at Harry, an expectant look on her face. “Mr. Potter, are the rumors in the _Prophet_ true? Do your future wives truly have those...bands of magic around their necks?”

Once again, Harry shifted uncomfortably. “They do.”

Juvela nodded, as if she expected this answer. “Then, come here,” she said, gesturing him to come over to a specific case.

Harry followed after her.

“In the wizarding communities of the Inuit, Aleut, and Yupik peoples,” Juvela began. “They do not exchange rings for marriage like you magical Europeans do. Rings aren’t exactly well-suited to the arctic terrain, after all. Instead, when a wizard proposes to a witch, when he asks if she wants to be betrothed to him, he gives her this. A betrothal necklace.”

Harry blinked, before he stared down at the necklace she was holding in her hands. It looked...more like a collar, really, he realized with a clench of his stomach, but also... _not_. Not like the bands around his bonded’s necks, anyways. Because whereas those were skin-tight and could never come off, the necklace in front of him looked loose and...comfortable. In fact, he was even willing to bet that the fabric of the necklace itself was made from some fancy magical fabric, which Juvela confirmed a moment later when she said:

“Now, usually with the Inuit, Aleut, and Yupik peoples, the fabric of the necklace is made from reindeer fur or sealskin, while the pendant that you see is made from bone. But these components, while making sense for those wizards to use, aren’t really... _suitable_ for wizards here. Or, at least, I think so, and I’m sure you’ll agree. So, instead of reindeer fur or sealskin, the fabric you see here is black acromantula silk. And instead of bone, the pendant is made from royal silver, which is only found in siren coves. Rather magnificent, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed as he stared at the pendant in particular which, although obviously made from silver, also had an opalescent or pearlescent quality to it. The way that it shined made that obvious. But, also while he stared, the wheels within his head were turning. An idea was occurring to him. “Miss Juvela,” he said formally, but also kindly. “How many...how many of these could you make for me?”

Juvela smiled, and once again, her dark brown eyes glittered. “However many you would like,” she replied. “And I can make them whenever you want. Now, later...it does not matter.”

“And the pendants...they can all be personalized?” he asked.

The dark-skinned witch nodded.

Nervously, Harry sucked in a breath. Although he didn’t really know if any of his bonded liked jewelry or not – except for Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, maybe, or Gabrielle Delacour – he _did_ know that they couldn’t have liked the stares that they were getting, just like he was. And although the stares directed his way were probably a lost cause, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, _just_ maybe, if his bonded had a way to cover up the undeniable, then things wouldn’t be so bad. For them, at least.

So, with these thoughts in mind, Harry turned his head and looked up at Juvela. “Miss Juvela,” he said. “I would like eighteen of these...betrothal necklaces. Two for now, sixteen for later, as needed. Is that doable?”

The smile that Juvela gave him in response was absolutely _radiant_. “Yes, Mr. Potter. Barak Allah bek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Testaments Pt. 1
> 
> Ending Notes: Yes, I was particularly punny with Juvela’s name. Yes, I totally just threw the betrothal necklaces from Avatar: The Last Airbender into this story. I hope you don’t mind. The latter just...completely made sense, all things considered. Also, I am not a native speaker of Arabic, and the Arabic that is in this chapter came from Quora. If something about it is wrong, send me a PM and I’ll fix it!
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis


	20. Chapter 19: Testaments Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Another short chapter today. I hope you all don’t mind. This one is a bit more fast-paced than the previous one, and for good reason. Everything in this chapter kinda happens in a whirlwind. You’ll see why. ;)
> 
> Next chapter will be posted sometime next week, if all things continue to go well.
> 
> Until then,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Monday, 19 September 1994  
_ ** **_The Ministry of Magic of the British Isles, London, England, Great Britain_ ** ****

**After Harry had completed his shopping and after Tonks had received the message – through the Patronus of a phoenix – to bring him to the Ministry of Magic, the auror in question did just that, through another round of unpleasant apparition.**

When they had arrived, Harry, who had never been to the Ministry of Magic before, couldn’t help but stare at the contents of it in shock. Despite being underground, the atrium that they had arrived in was quite large, looking to be almost four stories in height. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all built out of bottle-green brick, and there were an innumerable amount of fireplaces built into the middle of those three constructions. There was also a giant fountain in the middle of the room, depicting what looked to be a wizard, witch, centaur, goblin, and house-elf, and all of the many wizards and witches that were walking to and fro were bustling around it.

“Wow,” Harry said in surprise, his eyes wide.

Tonks snorted. “How unoriginal,” she remarked, before she sighed and shook her head. “Come on, Potter. Best not keep the Wizengamot waiting.”

Then, she marched along, and Harry found himself having to trail after her. The only exception to this was when she almost fell flat on her face when she was entering what looked to be a lift, but Harry chose not to say anything about that, both because of the scowl on the pink-haired witch’s face and the wry grin of the large, black wizard next to her.

Sure enough, in the next moment, the older wizard said, “Trip over your own feet again, Tonks?”

Tonks’s hair flared red. “Oh, shut it, Shacklebolt,” she snapped. “I’ll have you know I’m on very important business.”

Shacklebolt’s grin widened. “Oh, I know. You were supposed to be babysitting Potter, and now you’re bringing him to testify,” he said, before he politely nodded Harry’s way. “Speaking of which, it is nice to meet you, Mr. Potter. I daresay you remind me a lot of your father. The two of us fought in the war a few times, did you know?”

Harry blinked. “Uh...no. No, I didn’t,” he admitted.

“Ah, well. Just so you know,” the older wizard said in response, and although his tone was casual and his smile didn’t falter, Harry couldn’t help but think he had disappointed him somehow. “I suppose you want level two, Tonks?”

Tonks rolled her eyes, even as the lift began to move in a clanky, old-fashion way that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable. “Gee, how did you guess?” she asked sarcastically.

None of them said anything as the lift moved, first downwards – which Harry had been very confused about, before realizing that the buttons on the lift went _downwards_ , except for the buttons that were curiously labelled with O’s first, instead of upwards – and then sideways, at which point Harry thought that he might be sick. The movements of the elevator were just too disjointed, too clunky. But just before he thought that he might _actually_ be sick, the movements of the lift suddenly stopped, and a cool, feminine voice said, “Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Wizengamot courts, one through ten.”

“Right,” Tonks said with forced cheerfulness. “Come on then, Potter. Let’s get a move on.”

The two of them then exited the lift. Harry was vaguely aware of the fact that, as they left, Shacklebolt leaned in close to Tonks’s ear and whispered something to her, but he didn’t focus on that fact much. _Couldn’t_ focus on the fact much. Because suddenly, as he stood there and saw the directions for where both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement offices and the Wizengamot courts were, a sudden feeling of... _unease_ , of nervousness, washed over him.

Harry froze in place.

“Potter?” Tonks asked once she realized what had happened, when she had moved to leave and saw that he _wasn’t_ following her out of the corner of her eye. “Potter, are you quite alright?”

“I...I just have to speak the truth, right?” Harry asked her with wide eyes.

Tonks’s eyebrows furrowed. “Yes,” she said quite plainly.

“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” Harry continued.

“Yes,” the auror replied again with a roll of her eyes. “Why? What’s going on, Potter?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He couldn’t voice the reason for the unease that he was feeling, couldn’t say that he had suddenly just realized that _the truth might not be enough_. After all, if the truth hadn’t been enough then, when Harry had begged and pleaded with Cornelius Fudge to listen, to _help_ , then why would it be enough now? And what kind of godson would he be, if he just let Sirius go back to Azkaban again? A horrible one, that’s what.

... _But also a responsible one,_ a tiny voice in the back of his mind said. After all, it was his job, his _duty_ to be responsible now, and not just for himself or his godfather. Tonks had basically said as much.

And perjuring himself, no matter how much he knew he would want to do it if he sensed that things weren’t going his way, just simply wasn’t the responsible thing to do. It wasn’t the _smart_ thing to do.

So, without any further prompting, Harry shook his head. “Nothing, Tonks,” he said carefully, craftily. “I’m just...I guess I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

Tonks’s expression softened. “As I’m sure anyone would be, if they were in your... _situation_ ,” she replied. “But you don’t need to be. So, come on. The Wizengamot doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

This time, Harry did follow after the pink-haired witch when she moved to leave. The two of them marched along through the twisted, bottle-green corridors that held scarcely another soul, save for a single wizard or witch here and there, until they finally came upon a much wider hallway. Here, there were ten, wide double-doors, five on either side of the hallway, and each were labelled with a number. Upon further notice, Harry also realized that there was an eleventh door at the end of the hallway, but seeing as how there was a plaque to the side of it declaring _‘OFFICE OF THE CHIEF WARLOCK – ALBUS DUMBLEDORE’_ , he didn’t give this door anymore thought.

And indeed, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. Because then, Tonks was suddenly opening the door that was labelled with a _‘6’_ on their left, and she was walking in, and Harry was scrambling after her.

“Ah, Auror Nymphadora Tonks has arrived, bringing with her Mr. Harry James Potter, I presume?” a familiar voice spoke.

Harry blinked, both at the familiarity of the voice and the absurdity of Tonks’s first name, before he looked up. There, on the other side of the room, fifty wizards and witches – but mostly wizards – were sitting, all dressed in plum-colored robes. He immediately recognized Albus Dumbledore, who had just spoken, sitting in the middle of them, in a chair that was more prestigious than the others. He also recognized the familiar faces of Lucius Malfoy, Castor Greengrass, Amelia Bones, and Kentigern MacDougal, as well as a wizard who had a startling similarity to Mr. Weasley.

But, before Harry could analyze the fifty members of the Wizengamot further, Tonks said, “Yes indeed, Chief Warlock Dumbledore. Mr. Potter is right behind me.”

Dumbledore did not smile at this news, but there was a twinkling in his eyes as he replied, “Let the Court then recognize that Mr. Potter has arrived to offer his sworn testimony for the events of June 6th, 1994.”

“Aye,” the forty-nine members of the Wizengamot said in unison.

Dumbledore then raised his hand to a stone chair that was resting in the middle of the room. “Please, sit, Mr. Potter,” he said.

With one last look at Tonks, who nodded approvingly, Harry walked forward. As he did so, his eyes flitted to look over at the benches for the people that had already testified or were there to just simply watch the trial. Professor Lupin was the first one of them that he noted, and although the werewolf didn’t smile, he _did_ give Harry a warm glance. The same was true for the couple sitting next to him, who Harry presumed to be Tonks’s parents. They certainly looked like her, or she like them, anyways, with the only glaring exceptions being the woman’s curly dark brown hair and grey eyes and the man’s light brown hair and blue ones.

Once Harry had finished looking over the people in the court gallery, he then turned to look at his godfather, who looked back at him with a slight smile on his lips. Sirius looked a lot better than he had previously, after being on the run for so long, but then, Harry supposed, that made sense. Still, the sight of his godfather being clean-shaven – save for his goatee – and well-groomed was nonetheless very shocking for the fourteen-year-old boy, and momentarily, Harry found himself faltering.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore immediately called.

Harry blinked, shook his head, and then did as he was told and finished his walk and sat on the chair in the middle of the room, the chair that was facing the Wizengamot directly.

Immediately, shocked whispers and choked bits of laughter rang out in the room. Confused, Harry looked up at Dumbledore with a frown. “Professor?” he called.

“Mr. Potter,” another voice said, before Dumbledore could say anything. Looking up, Harry saw that the owner of the voice looked to be a man in his seventies or so, with dark brown hair and stunning gold eyes. “That is the seat for the defendant. Since you are not Lord Black, though, but a witness instead, it is more appropriate for you to sit there,” here, he gestured to a seat more like the ones that Harry had seen on muggle courts on the television, “instead.”

Harry flushed. “Oh,” he said. “I – um – I’m sorry, sir.”

“Lord,” the dark-haired wizard corrected with a slight smile.

“Lord,” Harry repeated. “I’ll – um – I’ll go do just that.”

Again, whispers and choked laughter rang out in the room.

Face reddening, ears ringing, Harry quickly walked to and sat on the seat that the one wizard had pointed out to him.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Nott,” Professor Dumbledore said, his voice mirthful, but not condescending. “And apologies, Mr. Potter. I should have clarified which seat you were supposed to sit in.”

Already feeling quite ashamed, Harry said nothing in response.

After a long moment in which a tense silence hung in the air, Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Mr. Potter,” he began. “You have been called by the court of the Wizengamot by the defendant Sirius Black to give your sworn testimony for the events that took place on June 6th, 1994. Do you understand what this means? That you must give the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

Harry wet his lips, which were now rather dry. “I – I do,” he said.

Dumbledore nodded. “And do you understand,” he continued. “That, if we are to discover that you failed to do so, that you perjured yourself, then you will be administered Veritaserum in order to ensure that the truth will be revealed, regardless of your own personal rights?”

Harry blinked. He had never heard of Veritaserum before, but whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. So, he said, “I do.”

“Let the Court recognize that Mr. Potter is of sound-enough mind to give his sworn testimony,” Dumbledore said. When all of the other forty-nine members gave their affirmative of the recognition, the headmaster once again cleared his throat, before announcing, “Mr. Fawley, you may now begin your questioning on the behalf of the defendant.”

The wizard who had been sitting next to Sirius stood. He was a rather unremarkable man, with a slightly-shorter-than-average stature and brown hair, but the smile that he gave Harry was more than welcoming. “Mr. Potter,” the older wizard began. “Can you tell me why you and your friends, Ms. Hermione Jean Granger and Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley, were out on the Hogwarts grounds on the evening of June 6th, 1994?”

Harry wet his lips again. It hadn’t previously occurred to him that he hadn’t exactly been prepped for his testimony, like was customary in the muggle world. In fact, he hadn’t been prepped _at all_ , and that wasn’t a thought that was lost on him. It wasn’t a thought that made him feel the least bit better, anyways. Especially when he knew that Hermione, if she had still been talking to him, would probably have a-thousand-and-one things to say about it _at least_.

“Well,” he began nervously, his voice a shallow pool for how he really felt on the inside. “We – my friends and I, that is – we had wanted to comfort Hagrid.”

“Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts?” Mr. Fawley clarified.

Harry nodded. “Yes. One of Hagrid’s prized hippogriffs, you see, Buckbeak, he had been set to be executed, and Hagrid wasn’t taking it so well.”

“I see,” Mr. Fawley said. “And what happened when you, ah, went to Hagrid’s?”

“Well, we – err – sat and talked for a while,” Harry said. “We comforted him. But then – err – well, you see, Hagrid revealed that he had Ron’s – err – rat. Scabbers. Ron had lost him some weeks ago, and he thought that Hermione’s cat had killed him. So, he was awfully happy that – ”

Suddenly, Mr. Fawley raised his hand. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Potter,” he said, causing Harry to flush again. “But what happened _after_ you, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Weasley left Rubeus Hagrid’s...abode?”

Harry frowned. “Well, we were walking back up to Hogwarts,” he said. “And Ron and Hermione were arguing, as they usually do – well, _did_ , I guess – when all of the sudden, Scabbers bit Ron and ran away. Ron, well, he chased after him, and he got awfully close to the Whomping Willow. Too close, actually. Hermione and I, we told him to run away, but before he could, he pointed behind us and told _us_ to run away.”

“And what did you see when you looked behind you?” Mr. Fawley asked.

“A large, black Grim,” Harry answered.

Mr. Fawley nodded, before he walked back over to the table where Sirius was sitting and grabbed a picture. Then, he brought it over to the chair where Harry was sitting and gave it to him. “Is this the animal that you saw?” he questioned.

Harry looked down. The animal was a large, black dog that looked like the Grim, and Harry also knew that it was Sirius’s animagus form. So, he nodded and said, “It was.”

“And did you later witness Lord Black turn into his natural form from this animal?” Mr. Fawley asked.

Once again, Harry nodded. “I did.”

Mr. Fawley pulled the photograph from his hands. “Right,” he said. “Please continue, Mr. Potter.”

And so. Harry did just that. He told Mr. Fawley, told the Wizengamot, about how the Grim, how Sirius had grabbed Ron by the leg and pulled him into the secret entrance underneath the Whomping Willow. He told them about how he and Hermione had followed after them, only to discover that the Grim was actually Sirius, and how the older wizard and Professor Lupin had revealed Scabbers to actually be Peter Pettigrew. Here, many members of the Wizengamot whispered in shock, but Harry ignored them as he continued on in his tale, as he pressed forward. To how Professor Snape had found them. To how Professor Lupin had turned in a werewolf. To how Snape had protected them. To how Harry had tried to save Sirius from the Dementors. And finally, when specifically asked, he also spoke about how he and Hermione had used her Time-Turner to save Sirius, a fact which actually caused a few members of the Wizengamot to cry out and be silenced by Dumbledore. He told them everything. He truly did. He told them everything until he had nothing left to tell.

Finally, when it was over, when _he_ was over, Mr. Fawley nodded again and thanked him for his testimony. It was almost anti-climatic in a way and in a way that Harry wasn’t expecting, but still, it was over.

Or so Harry thought.

Because apparently, despite the somewhat-familiarity that he had with how the courts – or, at least, the muggle ones, anyways – worked, he had forgotten one key, crucial detail:

_The fact that the prosecutors would also be able to question him._

It obviously wasn’t a fact that Dumbledore forgot, though. Because just as Harry was about to stand from his seat, a sigh literally about to escape from his lips, the headmaster and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot spoke. “And now,” the wizened wizard said, causing Harry to return to his seat and look up at him with wide eyes. “Mr. Weasley, you may now begin your questioning on the behalf of the prosecutors.”

With even wider eyes than before, if that was at all possible, Harry turned around to look at the person that was going to begin questioning him. At first, he had thought he had heard wrong, that perhaps Dumbledore had said something like _Weatherby_ or _Westley_ , but no. There, standing in front of him, was none other than Percy Weasley.

And this Percy Weasley, unlike the Percy Weasley that Harry had seen over the summer, had a hardened look in his eyes. A _very_ hardened look in his eyes.

The kind that Harry had learned from his life with the Dursleys meant that there was nothing but trouble in his immediate future.

“Thank you, Chief Warlock Dumbledore,” Percy said. And _Merlin,_ Harry couldn’t help but think, even his voice was _cold_ , was hardened. And that made Harry wonder, was the third-eldest Weasley son mad at him? Why? What had he ever done?

But, before Harry, regardless of the professionalism of such thoughts, could even think about opening his mouth to ask them, Percy suddenly turned to look at him with his gaze of steel. “My, my, Mr. Potter,” he said. “Where do we even begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: Testaments Pt. 2


	21. Chapter 20: Testaments Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you all have had/will have a wonderful Yule and Christmas! Also hope that those of you who were able to see the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter got to see it. It’s been too cloudy at the correct times where I live, much to my displeasure. :(
> 
> ...Before you read, though, I’d like to make one small note. Although I have loved the majority of all of the reviews/comments I’ve received from you all, there have been a few that I...haven’t. The people who have written these reviews know who they are, so I won’t name them. However, I will say that, since I always try to be polite and courteous to you all in my A/N’s and review responses, I don’t think it’s all that troublesome for you all to do the same. After all, it is easier to be nice than it is to be rude. :)
> 
> Next chapter will (hopefully) be posted sometime next week.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> ~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

**_Monday, 19 September 1994  
_ ** **_The Ministry of Magic of the British Isles, London, England, Great Britain_ ** ****

**“Ah, now, now, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said, his voice kind but also firm.** “I know that Lord Crouch wanted you to have some legal... _experience_ under your belt, but I feel the need to remind you that legality is not without its decorum.”

Percy, who had been staring at his former headmaster coldly while he spoke, respectfully inclined his head. “Yes, Chief Warlock Dumbledore. I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, before he turned back to look at Harry.

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

“Mr. Potter,” Percy began as he walked forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “Do you consider yourself a good judge of moral character?”

Harry frowned. He didn’t understand why Percy had asked him that question. Actually, he didn’t understand why Percy would be asking him _any_ questions from a personal perspective. Percy was a Weasley, after all, and all of the Weasleys, him included, had always treated Harry well. They had always treated him kindly, had always treated him like he was one of their own...so what was Percy _doing_? Why was he here? Why now? And why was he angry at him?

“Mr. Potter?” Percy pressed when Harry didn’t reply right away.

Nervously, Harry wet his lips. “I – I suppose so,” he replied.

Percy nodded, as if he was expecting this answer. “And, on the evening of June 6th, 1994, did you judge Lord Black to be of...shall we say, _good_ moral character?” he asked.

“I...yes,” Harry said. “Yes, I did.”

Percy nodded again. “Yes, yes, I understand why you did,” he said. “After all, with the undeniable proof of Peter Pettigrew in front of you, it would be hard _not_ to believe the story that Lord Black gave you.”

Mr. Fawley, who had been sitting right next to Sirius, suddenly stood. “Objection!” he shouted, flushed.

Immediately, the entire Wizengamot, save for Dumbledore, broke out into whispers again. Harry stared at them, shocked, until Dumbledore raised his hand and silenced them. “Is there a point to what you have just said, Mr. Weasley?” he asked.

“There is,” Percy replied. “Mr. Potter, did it ever occur to you that night that Lord Black may not have been telling you the truth?”

“No,” Harry said, before he frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. What was Percy trying to do? What was he trying to accomplish?

“And has the idea occurred to you since then? Like, perhaps, since after the events of September 1st, 1994?”

“No!” Harry protested. “Why would they?”

“Because, perhaps, Lord Black was not completely honest with you when he told you he had no knowledge of what your parents did to you?” Percy supplied.

“ _Objection_!” Mr. Fawley shouted again, before he glared up at Dumbledore. “Chief Warlock, there is no basis to Mr. Weasley’s claims! What he is using is a muggle tactic that I find completely deplorable, and a tactic I think that the members of the Wizengamot should as well!”

The Wizengamot broke out into whispers again.

Percy stared at them for a moment, before he turned to look at Mr. Fawley. “I disagree, Mr. Fawley,” he said with evident distaste – for what, though, Harry didn’t know. “Mr. Potter received the largest shock about his parents that any of us could ever receive, and I daresay that it must have had an effect on his views of them...and possibly Lord Black as well.”

“Such an idea – ” Mr. Fawley scoffed.

But, before he could finish his sentence, Dumbledore raised his hand. “Regardless of where Mr. Weasley’s so-called ‘tactics’ have come from,” he said. “As long as he can prove what he has said through questioning or other means of evidence, then this Court must allow it. It is our law.”

“Is the Court in agreement about that?” Mr. Fawley snapped.

“Aye,” most of the Wizengamot said unanimously, with a few notable exceptions – Castor Greengrass, Kentigern MacDougal, Amelia Bones, and etcetera.

Mr. Fawley flushed again, before he sat down. At the same time, Dumbledore peered down at Percy over his glasses. “You may continue your questioning, Mr. Weasley,” he said. “But, if you are unable to prove your claims, then your entire line of questioning after this point will be struck from the records.”

Percy inclined his head again. “Thank you, Chief Warlock Dumbledore,” he said. Then, he turned to look at Harry once more. “Mr. Potter, do you deny that the revelation of what your parents did to you in order for you to survive had a profound impact on your views of them?”

“I – ” Harry began.

But Percy wasn’t having any of that. “Answer the question, Mr. Potter,” the third-eldest Weasley son said, his voice sharp.

“No,” Harry immediately replied, the frown on his face deepening. He wasn’t liking what Percy was doing, he wasn’t liking it at all. In fact, he didn’t like it so much that, for the first time in a while, he was beginning to feel...

“Did your view of them take a turn for the worse?”

“...Yes,” Harry reluctantly ground out.

“But the same did not happen with your godfather?” Percy asked.

“No.”

“Why? Because you believed Lord Black when he told you that he had no knowledge about what your parents had done?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you have no memory of whether or not he had known, so you could not say what had happened for sure?”

“Yes.”

“Just like you have no memory of the events of November 3rd, 1981?”

Harry did not answer.

“Mr. Potter?” Percy said.

Still, no answer.

“Mr. Potter?” Percy called again.

Harry gritted his teeth.

With a scowl, Percy turned to look at Dumbledore. But, before he could even open his mouth, the headmaster turned to look at Harry. “Mr. Potter,” he said gently. “You must answer Mr. Weasley’s question.”

 _That_ did it. Why, Harry didn’t know, but hearing Dumbledore’s voice...hearing Dumbledore’s words...well, it caused something inside him to _snap_.

“Alright, fine!” he shouted, which he vaguely noticed caused a few of the Wizengamot members to jump in surprise. “Yes, I don’t remember the events of November 3rd, 1981, but I’m sure you don’t either, Percy! So why are you asking about it? What does it matter to my – my – my testimony?”

As soon as he finished speaking, he realized what he had said was a mistake. He could tell by the way Mr. Fawley sighed, by the way that Sirius gave him a sad smile, and by the way that Percy _smirked_ , as if he had just gotten everything he wanted. “Thank you, Mr. Potter,” the Weasley son said. “No further questions.”

~~~

“The Court will now have a recess,” Dumbledore announced a few minutes later, after Harry had stepped down from his chair, “To decide the verdict. Seeing as how I am intricately involved in these matters, I will be rescinding the Ancient and Noble House of Dumbledore from the vote, and I am sure that my proxies for the Founding House of Potter and the Founding House of Black will do the same.”

When two certain wizards who Harry didn’t recognize inclined his head, Dumbledore nodded and said, “Thus, the total votes for the verdict will come to one-hundred-and-thirteen, leaving no place for a tie. Does the Court recognize and accept this decision?”

“Aye,” the forty-seven remaining members of the Wizengamot said unanimously.

Dumbledore nodded, then stood. The rest of the Wizengamot members stood as well, before they all, Dumbledore included, shuffled out of the room through two doors that Harry realized must have been exclusively for them.

When the doors closed shut behind them, Harry stood. He saw Percy sitting there at the prosecutor’s desk, looking innocuous, but _nothing_ was innocuous about him, about what he had done. However, before he could do anything else, there was a sudden pull on his robes, and a familiar voice said, “You did a good job there, Harry.”

Harry turned. There, standing behind him, was Professor Lupin. Upon seeing him up-close, Harry couldn’t help but realize that the werewolf looked a rather worse for wear, but he didn’t focus on that. He _couldn’t_ focus on that. Instead, all he could focus on, all he could say, was, “No, I didn’t, Professor.”

“Remus,” Lupin corrected with a gentle smile. “Not Professor, Harry. I’m no longer your professor. And I must say, I profoundly disagree with that statement. _You_ did a wonderful job. It is Mr. Weasley who is in the wrong.”

“I agree,” another voice said. The owner of it was Tonks’s mother, Harry realized, and she was giving Harry the same kind of smile that Remus was, although she was still sitting next to her husband. “What Mr. Weasley did was absolutely disgraceful, but I suppose it’s only natural, considering who his boss is. By the way, Mr. Potter, it is nice to meet you. I am Andromeda Tonks, and this is my husband, Ted. Nymphadora has told us so much about you.”

“Nymphadora would protest if she heard you calling her by her first name, dear,” the wizard next to her, Ted, said with a grin.

Mrs. Tonks, though, merely rolled her eyes. “I’m her mother,” she said. “I will call her whatever I like. Now, come, sit with us, Mr. Potter. I’d rather like to get to know you better, what with us being cousins and all.”

Harry reluctantly did as he was told and sat down, right next to Mrs. Tonks. He still wanted to confront Percy, still wanted to make him answer for what he had done, but he also knew that there was no point in doing anything now. Not when whatever he would do would merely cause a scene.

Mrs. Tonks observed him for a moment. “You _do_ look a lot like your father,” she mused. “I don’t suppose you’re as troublesome as he was?”

“I – I try not to be, ma’am,” Harry answered.

Mrs. Tonks’s lips quirked. “‘Ma’am’,” she quoted. “Please, Mr. Potter, we’re family. Call me Andy.”

“Only if you call me Harry,” he countered.

“Cheeky,” Andy said with a smile. “Ah, well. That’s unfortunately a Potter trait. Your grandfather, Charlus, was much the same. Merlin knows how great-aunt Dorea ever put up with him. But, that’s neither here nor there...for now, anyways. No, what I want to know, Harry, is how are _you_ settling into the...change of things? How are your wives?”

When Harry sighed, her smile faltered. “Not well, then?” she asked.

Harry shrugged. “Truthfully, I don’t really know,” he said. “According to Tonks, I...well, I haven’t been really doing anything. N – nothing that my future in-laws would approve of, anyways.”

Andy hummed. “Well, Nymphadora, despite her faults, may be right in that case,” she said, “but don’t consider it to be your fault. You’ve been thrust into a situation, Harry, where you can only either sink or swim. But, swimming requires effort, and it’s an effort that you’re not always willing to give. Not immediately, anyways.”

Harry blinked. “You sound like you speak from experience,” he said.

“I had Nymphadora when I was sixteen,” Andy replied. “Ted and I, we loved each other, you see.”

“Too much, perhaps,” Ted Tonks interjected joyfully.

Andy rolled her eyes again. “Yes, yes,” she said. “Regardless, despite how much I loved him, despite the fact that my family had covered up such a scandal twice before, Ted is a muggleborn. And the Blacks, they don’t like muggleborns. So, they emancipated me. Disowned me. Blasted me off the family tree. And it made me feel like I was drowning, for a little while. Especially when the only relatives who would talk to me were your grandmother and Sirius.”

“But then?” Harry asked.

Andy smiled again. “I decided to swim,” she answered. “Like I said, it wasn’t easy. I had to make an effort. But, I got my NEWTs. I became a mediwitch, and then a healer. And now, I work at St. Mungo’s, in their equivalent of the muggle NICU.

“What I’m saying, Harry, is that, despite how hard things may be, despite how many people may view your situation in black and white like Percy Weasley there,” here, she inclined her head at the wizard in question, “You can do it. I have every faith in you about that. And I’m sure that my cousin, your godfather, does as well.”

Here, Harry looked up, towards where his godfather was sitting. The older wizard was staring at him intently, that sad smile still on his face. The sight of it made Harry’s heart ache.

“I know,” he told Andy softly.

Suddenly, the doors that the Wizengamot members had exited from opened. All of the wizards and witches in the room, Harry included, stood up with bated breath, and waited until they had all sat down to sit again.

“Lord Black,” Dumbledore began. “For the thirteen charges of murder, the charge of breaking the Statutes of Secrecy, and all charges thereafter, in a near unanimous vote, the Wizengamot finds you not guilty on all accounts.”

Sirius, who had been sitting on the edge of his seat, suddenly sagged with relief. Harry found himself doing the same as well, as did Remus and Tonks’s parents, apparently.

“The only charge,” Dumbledore continued, causing everyone to look up in surprise, “that the Wizengamot _does_ find you guilty of, a charge of their own inclusion, the charge of being an unregistered animagus. However, since you have already served more than enough time for the charge, you are released on time served, and are not required to pay any fines. Thus, the Court is now adjourned.”

As soon as Dumbledore finished speaking, Sirius began to laugh. It was the first round of laughter that Harry had ever heard from the older wizard that actually sounded genuine. Then, with a shout, he jumped over the fencing that kept him away from the gallery, and rushed over to Harry, Remus, and Andy. He immediately hugged all three of them and clasped Ted on the shoulders before he claimed, laughing still, “I’m a free man now! I’m free! Oh, I can hardly believe it! After all these years!”

Just as soon as he had hugged them all, though, he pulled away from them, his grey eyes glittering with delight. “We must celebrate,” he declared. “You,” he said to Harry, “me, Remus, Andy, Ted, and – and – ”

“Nymphadora had to work, Siri,” Andy interjected with a sad smile. “But we can go gather her up soon enough. I’m sure Madam Bones won’t mind.”

“No, I won’t,” the blonde-haired witch said in question as she walked towards them, still dressed in her plum-colored robes.”Merlin knows we all need a little bit of celebration right now, after everything that has happened.”

Sirius blinked. “Amelia,” he greeted, but his voice was...well, it sounded _strange_. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Amelia Bones smiled. “It’s nice to see you too, Sirius,” she said, before she turned to look at Harry. “And you, too, Mr. Potter. I hope you won’t let what Mr. Weasley did bother you too much. Most of us in the Wizengamot and the Ministry do not hold the same views that he and Lord Crouch do.”

“Oh,” Harry said lamely in response. “Um, thanks.”

The blonde-haired witch smiled at him warmly. Then, she turned back to Sirius. “If you ever need my help, Sirius, please, just let me know,” she said. “But, until then.”

“Until then,” Sirius echoed, watching her as she walked away.

Remus snickered, but then clapped his best friend on his shoulders. “Come on, Sirius,” he said. “Let’s collect Dora and go to the pub. It’ll be my treat.”

“No,” Andy suddenly interjected. “It will be _mine_. I don’t care what you say about it, Remus.”

As the two of them began to squabble about who was paying, Sirius smiled and grabbed Harry’s shoulder, before he squeezed it lightly. Harry smiled in return. Despite what had happened, despite how much he still wanted to make Percy Weasley _pay_ , his godfather was free.

His godfather was free and that was all that mattered.

~~~

“So,” Andy asked a few hours later, when all of them, Tonks included, were sitting in a private dining room at The Leaky Cauldron, waiting on the food that they had already ordered. “Sirius, what do you plan to do now?”

“Besides being here for my godson, you mean?” he asked in return. When his cousin nodded, he shrugged and said, “I don’t know. There’s no war for me to be a war auror in anymore, and I’m not too sure I even want to be an auror still in the first place. Not after what they did to me.”

“What about Amelia?” Andy asked. “Or Rose? Didn’t you want to find her, after the war was over?”

Harry blinked. “Rose?” he asked. “Who’s Rose?”

Remus and Andy shared a look, while Sirius sighed. “I kind of wanted to wait to tell him about her, Andy,” he said.

Andy merely smiled. “He was bound to find out sometime,” she said, before she turned to look at Harry. “Rose Lovegood was one of Sirius’s loves back when they were in Hogwarts. Some might say that she was his _only_ love, even.”

Tonks suddenly snorted. “And just who _might_ say that, Mum?” she asked. “Severus Snape?”

The mother scowled at her daughter, but Sirius paid them no mind as he took up the rest of the story. “She was the younger sister of Selene Lovegood. The third one, that is, who was also Luna’s mother,” he said. “But the two couldn’t have been anymore different. Selene was always...well, she was always logical, although also a tad whimsical, whereas Rose...”

“Was headstrong, stubborn, and adventurous,” Remus finished with a chuckle.

Sirius glared. “ _Yes_ ,” he said. “Anyways, we were together, for a while. During our seventh year. I’m not sure what happened, but one day, she broke up with me.”

“Which had never happened before,” Remus interjected with a grin. “Sirius always broke up with the girls first.”

“She broke up with me,” Sirius continued, although he leveled a glare at his best friend for good measure. “And then, at the end of the year, she left. She ran away. _Just like that_. Left all of Britain. Where she went, no one knows. But it was my intent to find her after the war ended, even if...”

He trailed off.

Harry frowned. The name, Rose, it...well, it sounded _familiar_ , but he wasn’t quite sure where he had heard it. He’d heard it recently, though, that was for sure. There was no other way that his mind would be trying to make the connection so hard if he hadn’t.

“Well, I’m sure if you decide to look for her, you’ll find her,” Andy soothed. “You two were so in love, I remember. Aunt Dorea wrote to me about you two all the time. She actually thought that you two would get married. And what a great match that would’ve been. Aristocratically-speaking, of course.”

Sirius snorted. “You should’ve tried telling that to my mother. Merlin knows what she would’ve said about a halfblood marrying into the Founding House of Black,” he said, before he shook his head. “But, no matter! Today may be about me, but me is not what I want to hear about. No, Harry, how have _you_ been lately? Tell us _all_ about it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Title: A Talk With Ginny


End file.
